


CS One-Shots

by owlways_and_forever



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 32,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlways_and_forever/pseuds/owlways_and_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's a collection of Captain Swan one-shots. They're not necessarily related or sequential or anything.<br/>Works posted between May and September 2016 are most likely part of the CS Hiatus Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little Captain Swan Halloween one-shot. I know it’s still a little early, but it just popped into my head and needed to be written, so here ya go! Enjoy!

“Swan, you have to dress up for Halloween!” Killian insisted, giving her his best puppy dog eyes as she washed dishes in the kitchen.

“Why?” she countered, not about to give in so easily and handing him another plate to dry. “Henry’s going out with his friends this year, so it’s not like we’re going out.”

“But what if people come here?” he whined. “And the town celebration! Come on, Swan, don’t ruin the fun!”

“What would I even dress up as?”

“You could be my pirate wench,” he suggested, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her neck, trying (and succeeding) to elicit a small moan from her.

“I hardly think I look much like a pirate’s wench,” she replied, sounding ever so slightly rueful as she ran a soapy hand over her growing belly.

“Nonsense,” Killian answered, pressing yet another kiss to her neck, “you look exactly the same as a rather mischievous tavern wench I met in the Enchanted Forest one night.”

Emma smiled, leaning back against his chest and lacing her fingers through his. The moment was broken approximately thirty seconds later when the baby gave a rather forceful kick in the direction of Emma’s bladder, and she unhappily extracted herself from Killian’s arms to rush off to the bathroom.

* * *

“I look ridiculous,” Emma groaned as she eyed herself in the long mirror on their bathroom door. She was wearing a long, faux leather coat not unlike Killian’s and a white flowy blouse knotted above her stomach, a pair of leggings and some knee-high boots, and, of course, a brilliant buccaneer hat on top of her loose blonde curls. A coil of thick rope was draped across her chest like a seatbelt, and heavy gold hoops hung from her ears. On her exposed belly, Killian had (rather impressively) painted a very realistic looking ship’s wheel.

“Nonsense, love, you look beautiful,” Killian answered, sauntering out of the bathroom in full pirate getup.

“It’s not a costume if you wear your every day attire, you know,” Emma teased, mostly to get her mind off his ridiculously handsome face and how much his current appearance made her want to… well, not make it to the Halloween party on time.

“I don’t wear this every day,” he countered, gesturing mainly to the red vest that left a maddening amount of his chest exposed. “This is reserved for very…” he paused to chew on his words and step closer to Emma, “ _special_  occasions.”

She stood, speechless and staring, the scent of salt water wafting off of him, and she couldn’t resist reaching out to touch him, first gently, and then tugging him closer with her fingers on the neck of his vest. Her lips pressed against his roughly, and she could feel him grinning smugly as he kissed her back, immensely satisfied with her reaction.

“Shall we, love?” he asked, pulling away and offering Emma his arm.

She shot him a look of exasperation, but accepted anyway, allowing him to help her down the stairs (it was so much harder now that she couldn’t see her feet) and out to the car. Their house wasn’t far from Granny’s exactly, but at thirty-seven weeks pregnant, that walk felt like a marathon, so Killian drove the little yellow bug (Emma’s knuckles white on the hand hold of the door) instead. He parked around back, and they entered through the hallway where she had once returned his heart to his chest, seemingly a lifetime ago.

As they made their entrance to the party, Emma immediately sought the comfort of her parents. She had begun getting extremely anxious about her appearance as she drew closer to her due date, feeling like she was the size of a bus every time someone’s eyes glanced at her belly or a shirt didn’t quite stretch enough to cover it. Despite Killian’s insistence that she was as beautiful as she had ever been, Emma had trouble feeling that way most of the time, and her costume left her feeling somewhat exposed.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret gushed, hugging her daughter tightly, and keeping one arm around her shoulder, well aware of Emma’s need for comfort.

“You look great, sweetheart,” David offered, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, and Emma relaxed a little.

“Mom!” Henry called out, having just spotted her, and she waved him over.

“Really kid, a prince?” she teased, ruffling his hair kindly.

“You know, I’m not sure that really counts as a costume,” Mary Margaret said, and Emma and Henry gave her confused looks.

“Well,” David continued for his wife, “as our grandson, technically you are a prince.”

Emma gaped at him, surprised.

“Since Emma’s next in line for the throne,” Mary Margaret added, “all her children are princes or princesses.”

“Next in line?” Emma stammered, sounding thoroughly overwhelmed.

“Of course!” Mary Margaret smiled. “Not that we’ll be returning to the Enchanted Forest anytime soon, but if we did…” she trailed off.

Killian pressed a soft kiss to Emma’s temple, trying to get her to relax. “Perhaps this is a topic we can all discuss another time?” he suggested, shooting David a meaningful glance.

“Of course, of course,” he said, chuckling lightly, and he pulled Mary Margaret away to make the rounds.

Henry dashed off the moment he saw Violet walk through the front door, and Killian hugged Emma tightly in an attempt to soothe her nerves.

“Need a drink?” Came Robin’s voice as he and Regina joined them, her considerably smaller baby bump completely hidden in her Cleopatra costume.

“I’ll have to decline, mate,” Killian answered with a smile. “I’ll be staying just as sober as my date tonight.”

“Seriously? You have to make me look bad in front of Regina?” Robin teased, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now I’ve got to stay sober to live up to your shining example.”

“Oh no,” Regina interrupted, waving Granny over herself, “I was counting on him getting a little drunk tonight - give me a break from having to listen to him talk if he passes out early,” she teased, winking at Robin.

“I don’t mind, Killian, if you want to -” Emma started, but he quieted her with a quick kiss.

“Nonsense, Swan,” he said jovially. “Besides, don’t want to be drunk if the little one decides to make an early appearance.”

Emma smiled and rested her head on his shoulder as he put his arm around her, the tips of his fingers tracing circles on her belly. When she grew tired, he let her lean on him and led her out to the car, driving them the short distance to their house as her eyelids drooped. By the time he parked in the driveway and walked around the car to open her door for her, she was fast asleep, and he gently lifted her up, carrying her to their bedroom, where he pulled off her boots and jacket, replaced her blouse with a comfy t-shirt, and curled up next to her, her back pressed against his chest as his hand rested in its customary place on her stomach.

It was a good thing he had stayed sober, since the baby decided it was ready to come out only a few short hours later. By that afternoon, he was a father, the least piratey man on the planet as he teared up at the sight of Emma holding their little baby girl. Their  _daughter_.


	2. Work Song

_And I was burning up a fever_

_I didn’t care much how long I lived_

_But I swear I thought I dreamed her_

_She never asked me once about the wrong I did_

Captain Hook woke on the floor of his ship the next morning – not altogether an unusual experience for him after a night at the tavern – with a searing pain burning through his mind and his pulse hammering out a rhythm in his temple. He must have hit his head when he lay down – or more likely collapsed. But he thought – he thought he remembered…

There was a tavern wench, no she was more than that, a woman with bright green eyes and a tumble of golden curls, and by gods a delectable display of cleavage. She had drank with him, toyed with him, come back to the ship with him. What he remembers most, though, is how she had kissed him – full of fiery energy that had bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Gods, he would love to kiss that woman again. But – but while they had been kissing, had she hit him? No, no,  _he_  had hit  _himself_. But that couldn’t be right, why would he do that? The details were fuzzy, but he could have sworn…

No, it was simply a bizarre dream, he told himself. Captain Hook reaches for the bottle on the table and pulls the cork out with his teeth, taking a long, deep drink; must have been the rum.

~ ~ ~

_My baby never fret none_

_About what my hands and my body done_

_If the Lord don’t forgive me_

_I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me_

He wakes the morning after Emma replaced his heart to find her in his arms – she must have snuck back in after he had fallen asleep, not that he minds. He smiles to himself at how nice it is to wake up like this, and how much he wishes he could wake next to her every day. She rolls over in his arms, eyes blinking away sleep.

“Killian,” she says with a shy smile, setting her hand on his shoulder.

“Morning love,” he replies. “When did you sneak in?”

“Not ‘til late. Henry found something in the lake house that he wanted to show me and Regina, and then I told him to stay with her for the night. I thought she might need someone around and,” she bites her bottom lip, “I wanted to come see you…”

“Couldn’t resist getting in bed with me, love?” Killian says with a wicked grin. Emma scoffs a little, but she still looks serious.

“I just, I had to make sure you were okay…” She looks away from his as though admitting that she cared was some kind of weakness, something she should never admit to anyone.

“Emma -” he begins, but she cuts him off.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened. It’s not your fault, any of it.”

“You don’t even know what I did, love.”

“It doesn’t matter. Gold forced your hand,” she grins a little at the pun, but he winces.

“Emma, you don’t understand. I made a deal with the crocodile and because of that deal…” he shakes his head, the memory of all his actions visibly causing him pain. “I made a deal for my hand, because I – because I wanted to be more for you, Emma. This, what I am, isn’t enough, you deserve more. But I was foolish to go to the crocodile, and I got caught in his trap, and I,” he shakes his head again, “I should have told you. I hurt so many people…”

“Killian, look at me.” She takes his face in her hands and tips it up, not speaking again until his bright blue eyes meet her green ones. “First of all, you never needed to try to get your hand back for me. It’s never bothered me, and it never will. You’re my Captain Hook, and that’s all I need. I don’t need, or want, you to be anyone other than who you are.” He opens his mouth to interject, but she barrels on. “It was silly to make a deal with Gold, and yes, you should have told me, but none of that matters now. You didn’t hurt those people because you wanted to, you did it because Gold forced you to, he’s the villain not you. But Killian, you almost died.”

“I know. I’m sorry –“

“Don’t. Don’t apologize, Killian. You don’t have to apologize for anything.” She flicks her nose against his affectionately.

“Emma…” he says, shaking his head and trying to pull away, but she tightens her grip on him and keeps him close, staring him down.

“No. Killian, you are a good person, much better than you give yourself credit for.” He can hear the frustration in her voice, and surprisingly this makes him feel better. She should be angry with him, he is furious with himself.

“Love, this is just the most recent in a long line of horrific blunders I have made in my life. You claim that I am a good man, but my past is littered with terrible deeds, and now this…” he shakes head again and looks away. He feels so ashamed, and it makes him wish Emma would leave him be. He does not deserve her.

“Killian. You are being too hard on yourself. I don’t care what you did in the past. I care about what you do now, and I know who you are. You’ve changed, Killian, you’re not the man you used to be. And it’s the man you are now that matters. The man you are now is the one I love. Just trust me, Killian, I know your heart, I’ve seen it, I’ve held it, and it’s _good_.” He scratches behind his ear with his good hand.

“Did you – did you just say you love me?” he asks, somehow both hesitant and still the confident pirate she has always known, one eyebrow flying up into his hairline.

“I – oh shut up, of course I love you.” He smiles again, wide and genuine, and she can see the joy in his eyes.

“Bloody hell Swan, but gods do I love you too.” He kisses her long and hard, his good hand on the small of her back keeping her as close as possible to him. “You are an amazing woman and I’ll be damned if I don’t listen to every word that comes out of that beautiful mouth of yours.”

“So you’ll stop beating yourself up?”

“Aye, if that’s what you desire, I shall try.”

“Good, because I think there’s better things we can do this morning than talk about the past week’s events,” she says with a wicked grin on her face. She leans forward to kiss him again, and this time she hooks her leg around his knee when his hand presses her closer.

Killian cannot believe his luck. Even if the rest of the town hates him, Emma forgives him and Emma  _loves_ him, and that is all he needs for the rest of his life. 

 

(Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the song, Work Song, by Andrew Hozier-Byrne.)


	3. Thinking Out Loud

Emma had been feeling very sad of late, Killian knew, and although he couldn’t be entirely sure, he felt like there was a good chance that it had to do with the lad spending a great deal of time with Regina of late. They both knew that Henry felt bad leaving Regina alone these days, since she really had no one else now that Robin and Roland were gone, and very few friends besides, but Killian wasn’t sure the lad realized just how much his mother missed him when he was gone. Even if she did have someone else to come home to now, he was still her boy, and no man – or pirate – could ever change that (not that he wanted to in the slightest).

So, when he came home to find Emma lounging on the sofa, precisely where he had left her earlier this afternoon, Killian knew he had to do _something_  to try to lift her spirits. He went into the kitchen and found the little music box device ( _“it’s an iPod, Killian,” Henry had said exasperatedly, as though that explained it all_ ) and chose a song that he liked, and he thought she did too, plugging in the ox cable ( _why would it be called an ox, it made no sense, he thought to himself_ ) and turning the sound up until it blared through the little apartment.

_When your legs don’t work like they used to before_

_And I can’t sweep you off of your feet_

“Killian, what –“ Emma started, but he got her off, tugging her to her feet and shutting off the tv.

“Dance with me, love,” he said, setting his hand on her waist and balancing hers on his hook.

_Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?_

_And will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?_

He started leading her in a sloppy waltz, somewhat like he had back in the Enchanted Forest, but not taking care to make every step perfect as he had then. She tried to protest, but he just pressed his lips to hers, his hand squeezing her hip.

_Darling, I will be loving you ‘til we’re seventy_

Much longer than that, he thought.

_And baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three_

Well that much is true.

_And I’m thinking ‘bout how_

_People fall in love in mysterious ways_

_Maybe just a touch of a hand_

_Me, I fall in love with you every single day_

_And I just want to tell you I am_

Killian looked at her hand wrapped around his hook and thought back to the first time they met (not including their little foray into the past) when she had tied him to a tree and he had known, he had  _known_  this woman was special, was something entirely different. He looked at the smile that had been growing on Emma’s face and thought about how each day she amazed him more and more, how each day she let him see a little more of herself, and how he loved each and every part she gave him.

_So honey now, take me into your loving arms_

_Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars_

_Place your head on my beating heart_

_I’m thinking out loud_

_Maybe we found love right where we are_

Suddenly, Emma broke his grip, but to his surprise, she didn’t pull away from him, instead wrapping her left arm around his waist, her right hand placed delicately over her heart and her head resting against his chest. He stopped waltzing, and together they swayed lightly in circles for a moment.

_When my hair’s all gone and my memory fades_

_And the crowds don’t remember my name_

_When my hands don’t play the strings the same way_

_I know you will still love me the same_

Killian takes the hand resting over his heart in his, and using his hook on Emma’s waist to guide her, he spins her out so their arms are outstretched, and then swirls her back into him, making Emma laugh wholeheartedly, his favorite sound. Once safely back in his arms, she places both hands on his chest and smiles up at him. He keeps his hook on her waist, pressing her close to him, and lets his hand rest over hers as he looks down at her, smiling.

_‘Cause honey, your soul could never grow old, it’s evergreen_

_And baby, your smile is forever in my mind and memory_

Emma stays smiling up at Killian, thinking about how this man could so easily lift her spirits, who despite being three hundred years old still had the exuberance of a much younger man, whose smile brightened her days without him even trying. How she had ever found such a man was beyond her.

_I’m thinking ‘bout how_

_People fall in love in mysterious ways_

_Maybe it’s all part of a plan_

_I’ll just keep on making the same mistakes_

_Hoping that you’ll understand_

Such fitting words. Sometimes Emma did feel like there was some grand scheme at play, and maybe she and Killian were a part of it, she didn’t know. It’s certainly what True Love sounded like. Destiny, fate, all that. It’s all somebody else’s plan. Not that she minded, it was working out pretty well for her. Still, she was always the one to mess things up (or at least, she felt like she was), and she felt like she was making mistakes left and right. But Killian knew, and kept reassuring her he was there to stay, so maybe it would all work out. Maybe she could have a happy ending.

_But baby now, take me into your loving arms_

_Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars_

_Place your head on my beating heart_

_I’m thinking out loud_

_Maybe we found love right where we are_

The two continued to revolve slowly in the kitchen, Emma’s head placed on Killian’s chest.

_So baby now, take me into your loving arms_

_Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars_

_Place your hand on my beating heart_

_I’m thinking out loud_

_Maybe we found love right where we are_

_Well maybe we found love right where we are_

_We found love right where we are_

They kept dancing for a moment after the music ended, and then Emma looked up at Killian.

“I love you, Killian,” she whispered.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Feeling any better?” She nodded, hugging him tight.

“Play it again. Please?”

“Sure, love. Anything you desire.” He presses a kiss to her lips before hitting the replay button and taking her in his arms once more as she smiles brightly.

Gods, he would do anything to make this woman smile.


	4. (Being Anchored or Bored) Just Feels Like a Curse

_And it’s kind of funny_

_The way we’re wearing anchors on our shirts_

_When being anchored or bored_

_Just feels like a curse_

~ ~ ~

There’s been six weeks of nothing. Since Ingrid left, there’s been six weeks of complete and total quiet. The most trouble they’ve had to deal with is Will’s drunken adventures, but even those are limited, since there’s not much to get into in such a small town, especially when it’s common knowledge that there are two very powerful women in town who have control of magic. Six weeks of quiet meant six weeks of sitting at home, six weeks of doing nothing. And though that may have once appealed to Emma, six weeks was a long time to go without any excitement.

They had settled into a routine – Henry spent Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays with Regina and Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays with Emma (she got an extra day with him because two of Regina’s were on the weekend), and they would all meet for breakfast at Granny’s before taking him to school, although generally whoever he was staying with just got coffee to go, and the other mother would eat with him and walk him to school. Killian spent most nights with Emma at the house she bought with a view overlooking the water from the back porch, although occasionally he would go back to his room at Granny’s, but those nights were becoming more and more rare. They did everything together, all day long, and that was completely new to Emma, who had never had anyone to do that with before, not even as a friend, and perhaps that was why she snapped. Or perhaps it was her not-so-deep-down insecurities that fueled the swell of irritation in her chest when she found him out on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking out at the water, fingers tapping out a rhythm that sounded a lot like impatience on the wood.

“Maybe you should just go,” she said from the doorway behind him, the monster in her heart telling her to say the words she didn’t really mean.

“What?” he said, surprised, not even knowing she had been standing there.

“It’s obvious you’re bored with us, so you should go.” Her arms were folded over her chest, shutting herself off from him.

“I’m not bored, Swan,” he said earnestly, and confusedly.

“Yes you are! You’re always looking out at the water, dying to get out there and have adventures the way you used to, so maybe you should.” Emma was fighting desperately to hold in the tears that were threatening to build up in her eyes. She knew that she was saying ridiculous things, knew that it wasn’t true, and yet she also believed herself, believed that he would shrug his shoulders and take his chance to get out the second she gave it to him.

“I’m not… Swan, I don’t want to leave. I miss the sea and the Jolly Roger, but –“ But the monster in her heart cut him off, not willing to let him try and comfort her.

“Then you should go! Go find her, your beloved ship, and go back to your glory days of rum and women! You’re so stuck in the past so go live in it!” she yelled, and she could tell that he was getting angry now, that she had pushed him enough to make him start fighting back.

“I’m stuck in the past?” he said with the air of exasperation. “I’m not the one who carries relics from my former boyfriends with me wherever I go!”

“Killian, you cannot be serious right now, that is ridiculous!” Emma shouted, completely taken aback by the pirate’s sudden outburst.

“I assure you, Swan, I am quite serious,” he replied, looking very grim.

“You have no right to be upset about this,” she said, turning on her heels and marching back inside the house, her anger mounting with every passing second that he stuck with this whole stupid thing.

“No? Can I not be a little displeased that the woman I love keeps mementos from all her past boyfriends with her all the time?”

“Not when you have a tattoo of your ex-girlfriend’s name on your arm!” He swore furiously in response, slamming his arm down on the table and getting his hook wedged in the wood, causing him to swear again as he tugged it loose and wrenched the damn thing off, flinging it onto the table.

“That’s different Emma, primarily because it’s considerably more permanent, I can’t just take it off anytime I please.” He paused, shaking his head. “Besides, Milah…it was years…she wasn’t just some fling…”

“And Neal was?” she retorted incredulously.

“No, but Graham –“

“Graham died because of me! Regina murdered him because of  _me_!”

“No, Regina murdered him because she was the Evil Queen and that’s what she did back then.”

“Well, she didn’t decide to murder him until he kissed me, so…”

“And August? He didn’t die, so why keep –“

“Because! Because I want to! You don’t get to decide what I keep or don’t keep!” she yelled, whirling on him. She was getting visibly angry now, pacing the apartment with her hands on her hips.

“But why do you  _want_  to?” Killian pleads, although his voice is still rough with anger.

“Because I want to remember them, because I cared about them, because they were a part of my life! Why is that so wrong?” He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t answer, just turns away from her and runs his hand over his face. Emma’s anger softens the tiniest bit at the feeling in her gut that there is something more, something he’s not telling her. “Killian?” she asks, sounding a littler harsher than she meant to.

“Come on, it’s easy, say I never mattered!” he shouts, catching himself and Emma by surprise. Every last bit of anger she was holding on to evaporates in that instant.

“Killian, what are you talking about?” Again, he says nothing, too embarrassed by the words he let out to say anything more. “Killian, look at me.” She says it in a tone that brokers no argument, and he turns to face her, though it is not until she forces his chin up with her finger that he meets her eyes. “You matter to me more than anyone else has ever mattered to me in the entire world.”

“Except Henry.” The way he says it, she can tell that he knows it’s a silly technicality, but he has to point it out because he just can’t believe her words. No, it’s more than that, he’s not hearing them at all.

“Henry is different, he’s my son. But Killian, you… you’re…” she’s struggling, at a loss for the words to describe how much he means to her. She placed his hand on his cheek and rubbed her thumb back and forth soothingly. “I don’t have anything of yours because I have you. I don’t need something to remember you by when I can come home to you every day. When you’re in my heart every second that I’m not holding your hand. But maybe…” she hesitated, aware of the implications of what she was saying, “maybe one day, you might give me something anyway.” He didn’t register what she was saying until she took his hand in her left, interlacing their fingers, and he realized what she was saying about their future (one day). She could see the moment the insecurities left his eyes (for the moment, at least) to be replaced by relief.

“I’m sorry, Emma. Truly. I just –“

“I know. It’s okay, Killian. I’m sorry too.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled into her neck as her fingers ran through his hair, massaging his scalp. They held each other for a minute, healing the wounds they had opened during the fight.

“I love you, Emma, so very much,” he whispered into her neck.

“I know, Killian. I love you too.”


	5. The Flu

Emma woke one morning feeling shaky, feverish, and nauseated, symptoms of such a bad bout of flue that she knew she would be stuck in bed for days, barring frantic sprints to the bathroom. Except she had Henry. She had to get him breakfast, get him ready and take him to school. She groaned loudly at the thought of moving, waking the pirate lying by her side.

“Morning, love,” he mumbled, leaning over to kiss her and feeling her burning forehead. “Gods, Swan, you’re on fire.”

All she could manage was a soft whimper in response. He looked at her for a minute, absentmindedly stroking her hair, before he climbed out of bed and pulled the duvet up around her neck. “I’ll be right back, love,” he said, planting another kiss on her forehead before leaving, the door cracked open behind him so he could her hear if she called for him. Not that she could, her throat felt as if it  had been rubbed with sandpaper all night.

Ten minutes later, she was preparing herself for the extreme amount of energy it would take to get out of bed and get Henry to school, when Killian returned, carrying a travel mug.

“Henry is up, getting dressed now and there’s a bowl of cereal waiting for him on the table for breakfast,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I brought you some tea, a special concoction I used to make on the  _Jolly Roger_ , to help you. I put it in one of these travel cup things so you don’t spill.” He handed it to her and she smiled appreciatively. “I’ll take Henry to school in a few minutes and see if Regina can take him tonight. Don’t want the lad getting sick.” Her heart swelled at his concern for her son.

“Thank you,” she croaked, but he quieted her, gently caressing her cheek.

“Hush, love. Just drink up and sleep as much as you can so you get better.” With that, he slid off the bed and ducked out of the room, once again leaving the door slightly ajar.

She could hear Killian and Henry chatting as the ate, but her concern grew when she heard Hook’s voice raised in frustration. It was unlike her son to give him a hard time, and it was  _definitely_  unlike Killian to get angry with Henry. She listened more intently, trying to assess the situation and decide whether or not she needed to intervene.

“I assure you, that is not necessary,” he said through gritted teeth. “By the time you get here, Regina, he will be late for school. I am perfectly capable of getting the boy there, I simply wish to know whether you can pick him up afterward and keep him until Emma is better.” There was a pause while Regina answered and then, “Thank you, Madam Mayor. I’ll tell him to expect you after - no, too late! We’re already leaving home! Bye!” He slammed what Emma assumed was the phone down on the kitchen counter and Emma laughed silently to herself while she sipped on her tea. Killian and Regina’s co-parenting could use a little work. A minute later, Killian peered into the bedroom, letting Emma know that he and Henry were leaving, and the last thing she heard before she fell back asleep was the front door closing behind them.

\- - -

When Emma blinked her eyes open, it was to bright afternoon sunlight streaming through the window and the smell of chicken noodle soup wafting through the apartment. She pushed herself out of bed, grabbing the duvet and bundling it around her as she went, and poked her head out of the bedroom, stopping short at the sight of Killian, pink apron covering his leather vest as he tended the pot of soup on the stove.

“Hello, love,” he chirped happily, coming over to her place a kiss on her forehead and pulling the blanket a little tighter around her. “You’ve been asleep all day. How are you feeling?”

“Nice apron,” she quipped, completely ignoring his question. He grinned his stupid, dashing pirate smile.

“Thank you Swan. Your mother lent it to me, she thought perhaps the sight of me even more handsome than usual might rouse you from your illness,” he responded, wiggling his eyebrows provocatively.

“Hmm, I think it’s more likely she thought you would accidentally spill boiling hot soup all over yourself,” Emma said, her throat still sore, but markedly improved.

“Aye, perhaps,” he answered, smiling at her like she was the sun.

She led Killian over to the couch, tucking herself into and flicking on the tv. They stayed like that for hours, watching episode after episode of _The Big Bang Theory_  (Emma’s favorite; Killian’s was  _Doctor Who_ ), only pausing when Killian got up to get them both bowls of soup. Emma fell asleep on the couch, snuggled tight against Killian’s chest, and he carried her to bed when he felt himself starting to doze too.

It took Emma three days to shake the flu, feeling better just in time to take care of Henry when Regina (and the Robin) came down with the bug. Mary Margaret, David and Henry caught it after that, but Killian, who had spent the whole time insisting that 300 years at sea had given him a superior immune system, got it worst of all, sniffling and sneezing in bed for a whole week before the fever faded.


	6. Sedated

_You and I nursing on a poison that never stung_

_Our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it_

_Somewhere for this, death and guns_

_We are deaf, we are numb_

_Free and young and we can feel none of it_

_Darlin’, don’t you, stand there watching, won’t you_

_Come and save me from it_

_Darlin’, don’t you, join in, you’re supposed to_

_Drag me away from it_

—

He watches Milah with trepidation as she raises the tankard in her hands to her mouth, foam staining her lips as she laughs and grabs the dice from the man across from her, tilting forward so he can see straight down her blouse, which distracts him enough for her to make a little switch to ensure she wins the game. He smiles softly to himself - he has taught her quite a few tricks, and she has taken to them magnificently. Still, a small crease of worry crosses Captain Jones’s forehead as he sips quietly on his rum, leaning up against the wall as he watches her with a pang of guilt. She had come to him wanting freedom, wanting a fresh start, wanting love, and if he had certainly given her the latter of the three, he wasn’t sure he had achieved the first two. He had turned her into a pirate, drinking away the ghosts of a past life and sailing away ever faster to try to outrun them. He had taken her away from her son, and he could tell she missed him whenever he saw that faraway look in her eyes. They had been gone for years, and he could tell she was growing bitter, growing tired of the constant adventure. He knew she still loved him over the cowardly husband she had left behind, but he wasn’t so sure he was enough to make up for leaving her boy anymore, and he had noticed her drinking more and more, sometimes returning to the ship more inebriated than himself. A wave of regret crashed over him and he turned away, swaggering over to the bar for another drink. He flashed the barmaid his most seductive smile to get her attention and gestured to his empty glass, making a highly suggestive comment as he ran his tongue devilishly over his lips. They had fought over that more and more lately, his flirting, even though he never went beyond a suggestive look and a lewd comment. Still, it had become a sore point, another chink in Milah’s armour of happiness, which had begun to rust and decay. He idly wondered if that’s just who she was, never content for years at a time, growing bored eventually, but he quickly shook the thought, reminding himself how much she loved him. Still he knew the fake smiles and the face of knowing you’d had more than enough to drink for the night, but deciding to keep going anyway all too well, and he was afraid he had been the one who taught them to her.

* * *

He wakes to her touch, delicate fingers wrapped around his shoulder as she shook him lightly, and he can feel wetness staining his cheeks.

“Killian? Killian, are you alright?” her voice echoes through his mind, but it is distorted, not sounding quite likes hers, more like another woman he had know years ago. He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, the memories still floating through his mind still. “Killian? Hey, look at me? You’re scaring me.” He opened his eyes to look at her, his blue eyes searching out her green ones for comfort.

“Sorry, my love,” he says, trying to smile at her, but it comes out wrong, and she knows it right away.

“What were you dreaming about?” she asks, looking at him with eyes full of concern.

“Nothing, Swan, don’t worry about it.” She sees shutters close behind his eyes, as tears slip out, but she caresses his cheek gently and wipes them away.

“You were mumbling about it being ‘your fault’.” She doesn’t ask the question, but it’s implied, and when she looks at him with those brilliant green eyes, he can’t stop himself from answering it anyway.

“Milah.”

She doesn’t say anything, she just snuggles herself closer to him, her head resting on her should and occasionally twisting to the side to press a kiss there as her hand massages soothing circles into his chest. After a while, he presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she looks up at him, eyes open and loving and ready to listen to whatever he has to say.

“It was my fault. She should never have joined us on the Jolly Roger, she should never have come with me. She had a good life, and she threw it all away for a no-good pirate who got her killed. I was… I’m not a good man, and I pulled her down with me.”

“She made her own choices, Killian,” Emma tries, not sure what to tell him.

“Aye, but I encouraged her, because I wanted her.” He shakes his head like he is disgusted with himself, and he is.

“You loved her.”

“True. But loving someone does not always mean you’re good for them.”

“Killian, you made her happy -” she starts, but he cuts her off, voice starting to rise.

“I made her drunk! I turned her into a gambler, a trickster, a thief!” He yells at himself more than her, and she sits up on her elbow to get a better look at him as he runs his hand through his hair, a pained expression on his face.

“We all make mistakes…” she answers quietly, thoughts starting to swim in her own head of a life long ago, before Killian, before Storybrooke, before Henry, when she had been stealing cars and food and she met a boy who stole her heart. He hadn’t exactly been the best influence on her either, but she had loved him all the same.

“My mistakes cost her her life,” he says bitterly, knowing that she had been thinking of Neal, and hating himself for bringing that up, hating her for having been involved with him in the first place, and hating himself more for thinking that.

“So did mine. You think Zelena would have killed Neal if it hadn’t been for me? If he hadn’t come to Storybrooke for me? If I hadn’t given him a son he wanted to be around for?” She says it fiercely, but the words that follow are more timid, quiet, as though she had half forgotten they were in the back of her mind. “Do you think Regina would have killed Graham if it hadn’t been for me? She crushed his heart because I kissed him.” He looks at her in surprise, having forgotten that incident and how much it must have affected her. “I get the guilt, really, I do. And I know that I can tell you it’s not your fault until I’m blue in the face, and it won’t make a damn difference, because no matter how many times people tell me that Neal and Graham didn’t die because of me, I know the truth. But Killian,” she says, crawling back into his arms and laying her head on his chest again, “I’m here, and you can talk to me if you want, or I can lie with you until the nightmares go away, but I’m here, and I’m not going away. Being together, that means helping each other carry our burdens, because you and I, we have so many, but they’re easier together.” He pulls her closer to him and buries his face in her hair as he registers everything she is saying.

“Thank you, Emma,” and he wants to say more, to tell her how much she means to him, how much he appreciates her words, but he doesn’t know how.

“No matter how much we heal, there’s always going to be the occasional nightmare, but that’s okay. Just tell me, so I can help you fight it off.” She gives him a hesitant smile, and he answers it by placing a gentle kiss on her lips, sealing their deal.

“You’re bloody amazing, Swan,” he says, and he pulls her up so her face is inches from his, peppering her with kisses and losing himself in the sweet smell of her.

“I know,” she teases, but she kisses him, long and slow and gentle, trying to pour into it a thousand 'I love you’s and a hundred answered prayers. And he gets it, answering her with a million 'my saviour’s. When she finally pulls back, she sees the smile has returned to the corner of his lips and the love has replaced the self-hatred in his eyes, and she cannot help but pull his mouth back to hers, not letting him go until their hearts feel lighter and their stomachs growl with hunger.


	7. Survivor

It was two months too soon. Whale had warned them that if she didn’t take a break from the stress of saviour duties, this might happen, but of course she hadn’t listened. And now here she was, sweat plastered to her forehead and legs clamped shut as contractions wracked her body.

“Emma, you can’t keep it in at this point. Your water already broke, so this baby has to come out now.” She shot Whale a terrified look and he seemed simultaneously wary of and amused by her panic. “It’s going to be okay, we’ll do everything possible for the baby, but I need you to cooperate right now.” She shook her head stubbornly, eyes wide with fear.

“Where’s Killian?”

“He’s fine, just a small cut on his forehead. Needs stitches, but no permanent damage. My guess is that its taking longer because he’s fighting the nurse and trying to get to you.” Just as Whale finishes his sentence, Killian comes bursting through the door with a slightly manic look in his eyes.

“Emma,” he sighs with relief, brushing the hair out of her face, and she feels immediately calmed by his presence.

“Hey, you two, we don’t have a lot of time. This baby is coming now, so I need you to get it together and work with me, okay?” Killian swallows hard and Emma nods, taking his hand in hers as she turns her attention to Whale.

* * *

They have a little girl - the tiniest little girl you could imagine and the perfect mix of them both, with Killian’s eyes and mouth and Emma’s nose, and a layer of light blonde fuzz on top of her head. She’s so different from Henry, who was every bit Neal’s son and much bigger. She squirms a little and lets out a little cry that sounds more like a mewl, but its there and the sound of it makes the fear gripping Emma’s heart relax a little because she’s moving and breathing and crying and doing everything that healthy babies are supposed to do when they’re born.

Until she’s about four hours old and she stops breathing and her soft pink baby skin turns mottled blue and purple and the nurse comes running and wakes Emma and Killian and the fear squeezes Emma until she is crying and Killian is trying to soothe her and simultaneously get more information from the nurse. It’s almost an hour later that Whale comes to explain that their little girl’s heart wasn’t fully developed yet, but she’s stable for now, and they can go with him to see her if they want, and of course they do. So they follow him down the hallway and stand outside a window looking at their precious daughter, covered in wires and tubes and things that are keeping her alive.

* * *

It’s a week until Whale says that she is going to be okay. She still has to stay in the hospital a little while longer, and she’ll need to have frequent cardiology appointments for a while, but she’s going to be okay. Emma’s crying again, this time with happiness and relief, and every good feeling she could possibly imagine all at once. They name her Maura, because that was Killian’s mother’s name and it’s all he has left of her, all their little girl will ever have of that grandmother, and somehow it just seems right. And they stand inside the window now, Maura’s little hand wrapped around Emma’s finger as Killian strokes the fluffy blonde hair on her head. He smiles a smile that Emma has never seen before, one she thinks will be reserved only for this little pirate princess.

“She’s a survivor, Emma,” he says, not taking his eyes off their little girl.

“Just like her dad,” she answers, flashing him a grin that he returns, reaching out his hooked arm to wrap it around her waist.

“Aye,” he responds thoughtfully, returning his gaze to their daughter.


	8. Stay With Me

_Stay with me, baby stay with me_

_Tonight don’t leave me alone_

* * *

She fell asleep in his arms as they sat on a bench by the docks. She hadn’t been ready to talk yet, so he didn’t push her, just holding her hand and rubbing his thumb across her palm in an easy silence, occasionally wiping aside a tear from her cheek, until he looked over at her, mouth open to say something, and found her with her eyes shut, dozing against his shoulder. He smiled as he watched all the lines on her face smooth out as sleep eased her worry and pain. He let her stay like that for a few minutes until he was sure she was completely asleep, and then he slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her shoulders and lifted her up, carrying her to his cabin in the Jolly Roger. He laid her down carefully, pushing the hair out of her face, but as he moved to pull away, her thin fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Killian?” she rasped sleepily. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not, love. Just going to grab another blanket. I’ll be right back.” She sighed lightly and loosened her grip, and he brushed his lips against her forehead before he moved to the hallway, finding his way to the closet in the dark with ease and pulling out a second blanket and pillow for himself. He sent David a message on his way back to his quarters, letting him know that Emma was safe.

When he got back to his small room, Emma was fast asleep on the bed, and he arranged his blanket on the ground and lay down. At some point during the night, she must have sought out his hand, because when she awoke, her arm was hanging off the side of the bed, fingers wrapped tightly around the cool metal of his hook.

“Killian?” she said, poking him gently as a smile pulled at the corners of her lips.

“Aye, love?” he grumbled sleepily, not even opening his eyes.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

“You asked me to stay, Swan. Couldn’t sleep in the bed, that would be bad form, what with you out cold, so I slept here.” He opened one eye and grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Come here, pirate,” she said, tugging on his hook until he crawled into the bed next to her. “For future reference, Killian, you are always welcome to share the bed with me.”

“As you wish, love,” he replied, and snuggled his face into her neck.


	9. Operation Mongoose

He breaks down the door to find a disheveled woman sitting on the floor, her rags splayed around her and her blonde hair in disarray from so much time spent pulling at it. She is dirty and the look on her face is eerily close to madness, but at the sound of the door banging open, she looks up with a mischievous  grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Quickly, she stands and pushes her way past him, giving him a rough shove to the side.

“Hey, wait!” he calls, hurrying down the stairs after her. “Not even a thank you?”

The woman ignores him, hiking her skirt up so she can run faster without tripping, but it’s not enough, and he catches up with her, grabbing her elbow and spinning her to face him.

“I am here to help you, princess, you needn’t run from me,” he says, offering her his most dazzling smile.

“I am NOT a princess,” she spits out, yanking her arm away, “and I don’t need your help.”

“I’ll just put you back in that tower then, shall I, let you free yourself?” He leans against a nearby tree, crossing his arms over his chest and watching her with satisfaction.

“Thank you, prince whatever your name is, now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get rid of this damn dress.” He raises an eyebrow at her words, pushing himself off the tree with his shoulders and sauntering over to her where she stands, attempting to rip some of the length off her skirt.

“Now that is something I could most definitely assist you with, love.”

“Please,” she scoffs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” he replies, chuckling softly. She straightens up, her eyes flickering to his lips as she steps closer into his space, breathing his air, and he feels a swoop of triumph as he leans into her ever so slightly before he feels the dagger ripped from its sheath and pressed against his throat.

“Now be a good little prince and sit next to that tree,” she says menacingly, pressing the dagger harder into his skin so he is forced to back away. Once he is on the ground with his back against the rough bark, she finds two vines and ties complicated knots around both his wrists and ankles. “That should keep you busy for a while,” she adds, eyeing her work with satisfaction.

“If you wanted to tie me up, love, all you had to do was ask,” he quips, raising an eyebrow provocatively, and she shoots a glare in his direction as she stoops to unbuckle his belt, removing it (with his sword and scabbard attached) and tying it around her own waist.

“See you never, prince,” she smirks as she turns around.

“I wouldn’t count on that, love,” he calls to her as she walks away, a smile plastered to his face as he begins to work through the knots around his ankles.


	10. Uniquely Portable Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was part of a CS hiatus writing challenge - the prompt was "books".

What Emma is most surprised about, when she first gets the chance to really look around the Jolly Roger (after Killian gets rid of every trace of Blackbeard and returns it to his own liking), is the amount of books scattered around. They aren’t nicely arranged on a shelf, but piled two or three books high in seemingly random places. Aesop’s Fables, Dracula, and Great Expectations sit on the corner of his desk; Tess of the d'Ubervilles and Robinson Crusoe are in the kitchen cabinet In the Court of King Arthur, Peter and Wendy, and Moby Dick are tucked away in his closet; Treasure Island, and the complete works of Jane Austen are in a large crate full of rope on deck; Far From the Madding Crowd, The Woman in White, and The Canterbury Tales are stacked in the hold; most interestingly though, is Paradise Lost and Gulliver’s Travels tucked far under his bed, impossible to see unless you lie on the floor (Emma finds them one day when she is looking for her socks).

“What’s with all the books hidden around here?” Emma asks Killian one night when they’re eating a picnic on the deck, gesturing around her.

“I’ve picked up many things in my years of travel, love,” he answers, somewhat evasively, scratching behind his ear.

“Killian,” she smiles, her heart warmed by his embarrassment.

“Alright, love, I happen to be quite fond of classic literature.” Killian turns to look out over the water in an effort to hide the color rising on his cheeks.

“Only the classics?” she teases, nudging his arm with her shoulder.

“I am three hundred years old, after all,” he jokes, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, and Emma can tell there’s something he’s not quite telling her, but she doesn’t press the issue.

“Tell you what,” she says, running her fingers down his arm until she can wrap them around his hook and tug lightly, his eyes turning back to her after a moment, “why don’t I give you some newer books to read, and you can tell me which of the classics I should embark upon, and we can see who has better taste.” He smiles broadly at her competitiveness, completely in love with the way her proud challenge issues from her eyes as well as her words.

“You’re on, Swan,” he answers, injecting as much confidence as he can into his words.

\- - -

The next morning Emma sits in her usual booth with Henry, sipping on hot chocolate (with cinnamon of course) and making a list of all the books she thinks Killian she read, Henry adding his own recommendations every few seconds. So far the list looks like:

  * **A Clockwork Orange**
  * **Lord of the Flies**
  * **Fight Club**
  * **The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo**
  * **The Da Vinci Code**
  * **The Lord of the Rings**
  * **To Kill a Mockingbird**
  * **Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy**
  * **The Three Musketeers**
  * **Catch-22**



**“Harry Potter!”** Henry adds enthusiastically, pointing towards the list.

“He’s not a kid,” Emma protests, but Henry just rolls his eyes.

“It’s not just for kids. Besides, it’s a modern classic, isn’t that the whole point. Come on, no one can go through life without reading Harry Potter.”

“I’ve been doing just fine,” Emma counters, feeling a little defensive.

“Mom! You have to read it too! I’m adding it to your list!” He grabs her jacket before she can stop him, and reaches inside the pocket where he knows she keeps the list Killian wrote for her, taking it out and scrawling Harry Potter in big letters across the bottom (as much as she protests, Emma knows she’ll treasure this little note even more now).

“Henry…”

“Come on, Mom, please.” He flashes her puppy dog eyes, and damn does she love this kid.

“Fine,” she sighs, writing it along the bottom of the list.

\- - -

Emma lounges in the big leather chair, her feet hanging with her knees hooked over the arm as she flips the page of The Secret Garden (she’s enjoying it much more than she will ever admit, having a hard time putting it down). Killian waltzes in through the door, and Emma can’t even peel her eyes away to greet him as he kisses the top of her head.

“What are you up to, love?” he asks teasingly, as the answer is apparent, and Emma ignores him. “Enjoying it?” She hums in response, and he chuckles lightly, knowing her answer is a sign that she is completely engrossed in the book. “I’ll get dinner ready then, shall I?” There’s a pause before she answers.

“Thank you.” She says it quietly, almost a whisper, and it’s not only a thank you for dinner, but for letting her read, for letting her get lost in the book, for giving it to her in the first place. And as always, it’s a thank you for coming home, for always coming home, for wanting her in the first place. He kisses the top of her head again and moves away toward the kitchen. “Hey Killian,” she calls out, and he turns back to her, raising an eyebrow in question. “I love you.”


	11. Like A Comet Burning Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another part of the CS writing challenge, prompt was "storm"

_She had a need to feel the thunder  
_ _To chase the lightning from the sky  
_ _To watch a storm with all its wonder  
_ _Raging in her lover’s eyes_

\- - -

Emma bangs the door of the house shut as she storms in, her mood beyond foul, though she has no real reason why. Since the darkness was banished, this happens sometimes, and it’s like someone flips a switch inside her, filling the pit of her stomach with boiling rage. So today, she excuses herself from her sheriff duties early, planning to go home and work out her anger on the punching bag she has set up on their back porch while listening to some pretty aggressive rap until her knuckles are sore and her body is exhausted, at which point she figures she’ll take a nice hot, steamy bath with a glass of wine. That should do wonders for her, making her feel worlds better before she has to be around people again. Her plan, however, is foiled when she walks out to the back porch only to find Killian sitting on the porch swing, feet propped up on the other end as he reads a book.

“Swan!” he exclaims, looking up from the pages in surprise. “You’re home early.” The tiny part of Emma that is still rational begs her to leave it, to tell him that she just needs to blow off some steam and continue on with her plan as intended, but the monster is in control now and she can’t seem to walk away.

“As are you,” she answers, and though her words themselves aren’t inherently mean, the tone behind them is biting.

“Ah, I strained my back trying to move a box of books this afternoon, so Belle advised I go home and take it easy so as to be better by tomorrow.” Emma can see now the heating pad poking out from underneath him and the cord stretching over to the outlet in the wall, and the fact that he is in pain should have been enough for her to stop herself, but she can’t, and she just snorts unkindly at his mishap. “Don’t be deceived by my devilishly handsome self, love, I’m much older than I look.”

“Your three hundred years are starting to show, captain,” she spits out, and he cocks his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing in confusion because he knows something is wrong. This is not like her at all, not least of all because he is damn sure that his two hundred and seventy years (thank you very much) aren’t showing even in the slightest.

“Emma,” he hesitates, wary of saying the wrong thing and provoking her further, “is something wrong?”

“Yes, you,” she answers, and she starts to feel the words flowing, a cascade of unmeant feelings issuing forth from the deepest pit inside her. “Always here, just hanging about, never doing anything, not being useful.”

“Emma, what am I qualified to do? I’ve never been anything but a naval officer or a pirate, neither of which are necessary in Storybrooke.” His eyes are still cautious, the expression on his face showing a mixture of concern and confusion as he waits for her to voice her real problem (knowing that this objection is not what is making her so unreasonably angry). She just ignores his [very valid] point and barrels on, the verbal waterfall now demanding to force itself out of her.

“You think you can just sit around all the time, being all handsome and charming, and that’ll just make everything alright, that just because you’re good looking you can just, and your stupid tattoos,” she might as well say the word in singular because her eyes flick to his bare forearm as she says it, and he absolutely catches the movement, “and just because you talk like freaking Shakespeare, I mean seriously, who does that? And you’re still here, but you shouldn’t be, you should have gone running for the hills by now because I’m a nightmare, except you don’t. And you flirt with anything that moves like you’re some kind of, of, I don’t even know, but you’re impossible.”

“Emma,” he tries to interject when she pauses to take a breath, but she just plows on past him without even taking notice.

“God, you’re so freaking perfect, everyone thinks you’re perfect, but you’re not, you know.” She starts pacing back and forth, her brain completely shut off as she spews forth words that don’t even make sense, that aren’t even sentences. “You’re, you're… you snore when you sleep, and you’re insanely neat so you make everyone else feel like a complete slob, and you’re always on time, never fashionably late, and -”

“Emma. Stop.” He’s stern, started to get a little annoyed by her incessant babbling, his irritation compounded by the aching in his lower back. “Would you like to tell me the real problem or would you prefer to continue to spout nonsense at me?” His eyes flash warningly, but she feels like it’s a challenge, and the monster inside of her rears up in triumph at having aggravated him.

“The real problem, Hook, is that you’re like a little puppy dog, just following me around with nothing better to do, not like a real man would. You focus all your energy on me, you have nothing else in your life. Until me, you were a grown man, still living on a boat getting drunk  and having one night stands all the time, and now you cling to me like a leech.”

“EMMA.” He has to virtually shout to make himself heard over her, but she stops abruptly when he speaks, her eyes taking in the anger and hurt that is written plainly all over his face. He pushes himself so he is standing (with what looks to be a good deal of pain) to face her. “I’m going to go for a walk, give you some space to cool down a bit.” She doesn’t even respond right away, her spike of fury not fading until he is halfway down the path to the beach.

“Killian?” she calls out tentatively, not sure what response she’s going to get.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Swan,” he answers, not even bothering to turn back around.

And that, that’s the moment the shame and guilt and self-loathing begin to seep into the now-empty pit of rage, and Emma hates herself more in that moment than she thinks she ever has before.

She does take some time with the punching bag after all, but disgust with oneself doesn’t dissipate the same way anger does, so when her knuckles are bruised and broken she stops, but she doesn’t feel any better.

\- - -

Killian gets back in time for dinner, and doesn’t say anything, Henry is there after all, but he takes Emma’s hand gently and smoothes his thumb over the back, his eyebrows drawing together as he takes note of the cuts and bruises on her skin. Killian and Emma are both quiet all through dinner, though he never lets go of her hand, both of them speaking only as much as needed to continue prompting Henry, although the boy is more than happy to carry the conversation, telling them every detail of his day at school and his afternoon with Regina, Robin and Roland at the park, and when he’s exhausted that subject he tells them about being the Author and all the questions he has - can he come up with stories of his own to write or does he have to simply record other people’s stories? - and Emma tells him that maybe he can ask August.

When dinner is over and the dishes are done, Killian heads to their bedroom while Emma checks that Henry’s homework is finished and his teeth are brushed before sending him off to bed with a hug and a reminder that he can read or write or whatever for one hour and then he has to go to sleep because it’s a school night after all, and then she goes to her own bedroom, ready to face whatever awaits her there. Killian sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to come in, and when she shuts the door behind her, she leans against it, eyes looking down at the floor though she can feel the heat of his gaze on her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, and she hears him let out a sigh, lifting her eyes so she can look at him. He looks… tired, and sad, but also relieved and not at all angry.

“Emma, I love you very much, and that doesn’t change just because of a few harsh words, though I could live without them.” She smiles weakly at the teasing in his voice. “But, did you mean what you said? Do you want me around less?”

“No,” she answers quickly, and it’s the truth, which she wants him to know, so she walks over and kneels in front of him, taking his hand in hers. “No, I don’t. You belong right here, Killian, with me, and Henry, and…” but she lets that particular thought drift away, not ready to deal with the idea of more just yet. She hesitates, then, “I do want you to have a job, but I want you to have one because you enjoy it, and it makes you feel good, and not because I want you to get out of the house or because I push you, and there’s no rush. You’ll figure it out eventually, find something that clicks, and until then, do whatever you want.”

“Okay,” he answers, but she can see the cogs still turning in his brain.

“This is your place, Killian, right here. Don’t doubt it now just because I’m an idiot.” He smiles lightly and his hook goes up to play with her hair, wrapping the curls absentmindedly around the tip.

“But… you’ll tell me if you need me to, what’s the phrase, back off?” he moves his hand to scratch behind his ear, but she squeezes it instead.

“What I need is you, right beside me, always. Can you do that?”

“Aye, love, I think I manage it.”

“Good.”

(In the end, Emma takes that hot, steamy bath as well, though she may have some company she hadn’t originally planned on, but she’s not complaining. His kisses peppered across her skin anywhere the muscles are tight help wash away bad feelings better than anything else possibly could.)

\- Quote from “That Summer” by Garth Brooks. -


	12. Are you listening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third installment of the CS writing challenge - prompt, "tomorrow"

_This silence is deafening_  
This ocean is without an end  
And there’s something I know  
Something I know, we were meant to be  
Please listen to me, are you listening?

\- - -

Killian Jones has never in his life been a religious individual. His mother never really forced it upon him and Liam as children, though he knew somehow that she had been raised to believe it was of great importance, but when she was asked about it, she simply said that god had turned his back on her long ago. Liam had somehow become a bit more spiritual, and had once tried to convince Killian to follow his lead, but it was to no avail. And after Liam’s passing he shared his mother’s sentiment that god had abandoned him. Still, he had long ago become aware of the  many strange wonders in the realms due to magic, and some form of telepathy would not surprise him in the least at this point.

So when a clear night rolls around and Killian finds himself standing on the roof of the Charming’s building (sleeping on the Jolly felt too much like before, back when he had nothing to live for but the thought of destroying the Dark One) looking at the stars, he feels like maybe this is as good a time as any to start talking.

“Emma, love, I realize the odds of your actually being able to hear my supplications are very slim,” he starts, eyes turned towards the heavens as though he might be able to see her in the stars somewhere, “but I haven’t much to lose at this point, and if it brings you back to me, it’s worth anything I have. Can you hear me, Swan?” The eye of Cygnus twinkles brightly, and he takes that as a sign, encouraging him to keep going. “I miss you, darling. I hope you’re safe, but I hate to think of what you’re going through, all alone with the darkness roiling inside your beautiful mind. Can you forgive me, love, for not stopping you from making this sacrifice? I haven’t yet forgiven myself, but maybe if you just come home…” Hot tears prick his eyes and Killian blinks to get rid of them, letting them roll down his cheeks as they see fit. “Henry needs you, Swan. And I, I need you too. More than I can tell you. Emma… Come home to me tomorrow, darling. I love you.” He casts one more glance across the sky, taking in the stars one last time before he taps his fist against the brick and turns to go back inside, ready for sleep to take him to dreams of Emma (he always dreams of Emma).

He comes back every night, as much a part of his nocturnal ritual as brushing his teeth, standing on the roof and saying his littler prayer to Emma. Every night, without exception, Killian opens the door to the roof and fixes his eyes on Cygnus, watching for the twinkle of an eye that he takes to mean she’s listening. And every night for two weeks the skies stay clear for his sacrament, until one night, they are not, and the clouds cover the stars and rain beats down on the rooftop. Still Killian stands by the edge, looking up where he assumes the constellation would be, and he begins his nightly litany.

“I can’t see you tonight, Emma, and I don’t know where you are, but I hope that you can still hear me. We’re still trying to find you, the whole town, everyone wants you back, though none so much as me, I can assure you, my love. Regina is quite dedicated to the cause. I think she blames herself, though you and I both know she is wrong to do so. We’re just worried about you, Swan. Please, love, come home to me tomorrow. I -”

“How about tonight?” Her voice cuts across him and he swears it’s a hallucination, and he tells himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but his heart is already beating out of control, and he can feel it in his throat as he turns around. But there she is, standing in front of him, real as ever, and it looks like tomorrow just came a little early, and for the first time, Killian Jones is at a complete loss for words.

\- Quote from “Tomorrow” by Olly Murs. -


	13. A Lunchtime Parley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "discipline"

“Look, Henry, I know you miss Em - your mother, but you can’t use her disappearance as an excuse to skip school.” Killian tries to sound simultaneously understanding and stern, knowing that Emma’s prolonged absence has taken quite a toll on all of them, including her son. Still, truancy was not something to be encouraged, and he knew Emma would be very distressed if she found out that Killian knew Henry was skipping class and did nothing.

“Finding Mom is way more important than stupid school, Killian, I thought you would understand that.” Henry had turned up on the Jolly around lunchtime with a bag of Granny’s food for the two of them (he had told her that he had forgotten lunch that day and had run over from school quickly, and the older woman had thought nothing of it) and the idea that the two of them would put their heads together for the afternoon to find a way to bring Emma home.

“I do understand, but I also know your mother, and she’d be furious if she found out,” Killian insists as Henry pushes through him into the little cabin.

“We can’t abandon her! We have to work on Operation Swan.” He sets the food out on the wooden counter, grabbing his own plastic fork and knife and digging in as Killian flounders, trying to think of what to do.

“Henry, no one is abandoning her, believe me. David and Mary Margaret and I are doing everything we can to find her, but no one knows where she might have gone, not the damn Crocodile, not even Regina.”

“Mom thinks it’s all her fault,” Henry confides, his eyes falling to the food in front of him as he talks, and Killian sits down opposite him with a sigh, feeling like they might be getting to the real root of the issue. “The darkness, she thinks it was after her. She’s miserable. She barely even looks at Robin now, she feels so guilty.”

“It’s not her fault,” Killian assures the boy, feeling his own wave of guilt wash over him.

“I know that. But she won’t stop punishing herself until we find Mom.” Henry gives him a look Killian knows very well, having used it a fair few times himself - puppy dog eyes.

“We’ll find Emma, I swear.  But you can’t skip school anymore. You can come over afterward in the afternoons, but class is important. Especially if you want to learn to be a good writer to fulfill your duties as the Author.” Killian gives him a wink, knowing that he’s making progress and Henry groans.

“But -”

“Listen carefully, Henry,” Killian says in a quiet, intimidating voice, “I don’t really want to tell Regina that you’ve been skipping school, but believe me I will if I have to. So, starting tomorrow, lad, you will attend a full day of classes, or I let your mother know what’s going on, and I don’t think she’ll be very pleased. And don’t think you can bail without me finding out, I’m a bloody pirate, I know everything. You understand?”

“Starting tomorrow?” Henry asks, giving Killian a nervous smile.

“Aye, well, you did bring my favorite lunch, and I there’s work to be done, or am I mistaken?” Killian grins warmly as he opens the container of Granny’s food meant for him and Henry’s whole face lights up as he pulls his book out of his backpack and drops it onto the table, talking nonstop.


	14. Crimson and Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "yellow"

He’s red. Bright, burning passion and aggression. He loves from the depths of his heart, with every fiber of his being. He’s bold, courageous, outspoken, always making his presence known. He’s a survivor, though he would give up his life for those he loves without hesitation. He thinks with the blood pumping through his veins, the adrenaline pounding in his ears.

She’s yellow. Lightness and sunshine, all the goodness he ever needs. She’s a bright, dewy buttercup, beautiful but fragile. She’s strong, but her strength hides so much fear. She thinks with her emotions, even if she never shares them. She’s optimistic, though she never admits it, but deep down there’s always hope, always a dream.

Some days he’s a deeper red, dark and brooding, a crimson indicative of his defiance. He’s cocky, sure of himself, dismissive of others. She’s often gold, at least to him, pure treasure, not the kind you could find marked by an X on a map. She’s confident, sure of herself and her worth, even if she sometimes questions it.

But Killian and Emma, together they’re orange. They’re comfort, home, security. They’re impulsive and fun, and maybe even a little bit childish sometimes, but they’re trusting. They reach out to each other instinctively without realizing it, each one acting as an anchor for the other. She softens him, cools his rage, while he brings out her wild side.

Maybe it’s subconscious, maybe not, but they always decorate in crimson and gold. Their christmas tree, their house (although it’s subtle), their wedding. When she and Killian find out they’re having a son, Henry begs them to decorate the nursery red and gold with lions because he’s suddenly very into Harry Potter, and besides, it’s a very regal look and Emma is a princess after all (Henry’s become very fond of reminding her that technically she’s the heir to the Enchanted Forest lately, although she always changes the subject quickly when he does), and even though Killian would much rather go with a nautical theme, neither of them has the heart to argue with Henry. It turns out to be a good decision, because little Liam loves lions.

They’re red and yellow, crimson and gold, rose colored and pale morning sunshine, and every shade in between. They’re warm, so warm, and passionate. And they’re perfect… perfect and perfectly happy.


	15. Hold Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after Emma is no longer the Dark One. The song is Hold Each Other by A Great Big World, which obviously I have no rights to or anything.

_I was trapped inside a dream_  
_I couldn’t see her next to me_  
 _I didn’t know she’d set me free like ohhh_  
  
 _Something happens when I hold her_  
 _She keeps my heart from getting older_  
 _When the days get short and the nights get a little bit colder_  
 _We hold each other_

Killian woke in the middle of the night to Emma shivering. The temperature had dropped significantly while they were asleep - winter had finally arrived in Storybrooke it seemed, and it had come with a bang. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded as quietly as he could down the hall to the linen closet, pulling their big duvet off the shelf along with an old fleece blanket from the Jolly. Back in their bedroom, he tossed the fleece blanket over Emma first, spreading the duvet out on top. He didn’t pay much attention to making it look perfect the way he usually did (he was the one who always insisted the make the bed each morning), just crawling back under the blankets himself. Killian gathered Emma in his arms, pulling her as close to him as possible, and she let out a contented sigh, making him smile slightly as he nuzzled into her hair.

It was amazing, the way he felt with Emma, like he was thirty again instead of three hundred, like the past years (so many of them) didn’t matter. He could look forward to a future again, now that she was safe in his arms, a future in which he was damn sure he was never going to let go of her hand, lest she attempt to sacrifice herself again. He shuddered at the memory and had to breathe her in deeply to remind himself that she was back, safe, happy, here.

My Swan, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, and he dreamt of everything - of them, years and years from now, of weddings, of children growing up, of white hair and wrinkles. Killian Jones dreamt it all for them, because now they had nothing but time. 

* * *

 _All this time my head was down_  
_He came along and showed me how to let go_  
 _I can’t remember where I’m from_  
 _All I know is who I’ve become_  
 _That our love has just begun like ohhh_  
  
 _Something happens when I hold him_  
 _He keeps my heart from getting broken_  
 _When the days get short and the nights get a little bit frozen_  
 _We hold each other_

Emma woke cocooned in blankets while her pirate shivered next to her, sunlight streaming through the frost-covered window. She smiled to herself before untangling the blankets from her body and draping some over Killian. Emma snuggled into him, wrapping her arms around his bare chest and tucking her head into his shoulder. He sighed happily and she felt his arms tense, closing around her and pulling her closer, his breath tickling her forehead. He was still shivering slightly, so she took his hand in hers and began rubbing it carefully, trying to infuse some warmth.

It’s such an ordinary moment, such a small thing, but it makes Emma think, and she realizes this is the most content she’s ever been in her life. Here, with Killian’s arms wrapped around her, she has this feeling of being right where she’s supposed to be. It’s more than just being safe, or finally having home, or knowing that he’s never going to heart her, never going to break her heart. Emma has this inexplicable sense that everything is just right. If she believed in god, she would say that it felt like she was following his path for her, but maybe it’s more like destiny? Whatever it is, it makes her sure, it makes her unafraid to commit to this.

Emma curls into him, tucking her toes under his legs and lacing her fingers through his and starts to drift off, though not completely. She thinks it might be a good day to stay in, to light a fire in the fireplace and huddle up on the couch with some hot chocolate and netflix. Maybe she’ll make some homemade soup if she’s feeling up to it (she got pretty good a cooking a few simpler things during the year in New York), or maybe they’ll just order a pizza. It’s sounds like a damn good plan for the day, doing nothing for a whole day, because they’re in no rush - after all, they have nothing but time.


	16. Happy Thanksgiving...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I felt like doing a little CS writing for the holidays , so here ya go. It’s a little angsty, sorry, but my family isn’t having the best start to the holiday season, and I guess that’s just my mood.

Emma stood across the street from Granny’s, a spell cast so that no one inside would see her if they looked out as she watched her son smile and laugh, Regina’s arm around his shoulder as he loaded his plate high with mashed potatoes. Robin was next to her, staring down at his baby girl (which Emma knew Zelena would be coming for any day now), and Mary Margaret cooed over the infant, Neal bouncing up and down in David’s lap as she did. Emma’s heart was aching at the sight of her family celebrating Thanksgiving without her, and she couldn’t help the tears spilling from her eyes at the thought of how far she had fallen. She had been so close to having all the things she had ever dreamt of - parents who loved her, a brother, a son, Killian - and now it was all gone, and she was once again standing on the outside, watching something she couldn’t have but so desperately wanted, just like when she was a kid.

Killian was perched high in a lookout’s perch on the Jolly Roger, a telescope glued to his eye as he watched Emma observing her family, his heart seething with anger. He saw her shoulders shake and her hand reach up to wipe a tear from her eye, and for a second, he felt a flicker of the Killian who loved her more than anything, a moment of wanting to comfort her, to take her in his arms and kiss her sadness away. He shoved that other Killian away, down deeper into himself, and his anger burned even more brightly. He pouffed himself to her side in a whirl of smoke the color of hot blue flames, and as Emma turned to face him, he saw a flash of hope in her green eyes, one that he couldn’t wait to extinguish.

“Killian…” she sighed, one trembling hand reaching toward him.

“Why hello there, little lost girl,” he sneered at her. “Once more on the outside looking in?”

Emma blushed brilliantly, turning to look over her shoulder at her family gathered together in the diner as the tears threatened to fall again.

“You always thought it was your fault as a child - it must hurt now to _know_  that you’ve brought this fate upon yourself,” he taunted, relishing in the pain he could see written across her face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, so quietly it wouldn’t have been audible if he hadn’t been standing so close.

“I’m afraid, love, that sorry just won’t do,” he answered, somehow lacing his words with magic so that they physically stung her.

The darkness inside Emma wanted to lash out, to send her own magic whipping out at him, striking him hot and sharp, but she was so tired, her emotions weighing like a boulder on her body. She pushed back from him, and it was all she could do to leave, to wave her hand a disappear in a cloud of smoke, unable to fight back, not when everything he said had been so true. Not when he was so justified in hating her. Not when she had lost everything.

As Emma vanished, tears once again rolling down her cheeks, Killian felt the part of himself that loved her rise again, guilt touching his heart. 

Happy Thanksgiving indeed.


	17. All I Want for Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it’s a little early for holiday fics, but I’m in the holiday mood so why not. Enjoy!  
> Takes place after the darkness is banished and they’ve all returned from the underworld (which happens amazingly fast!).

It was past midnight on Christmas Eve and she ought to be home putting the finishing touches on the presents and such - Henry still thought Santa  _might_  be real, which given their family tree might not be so absurd - but Emma needed to get out of the house. It had been days since they had returned from the Underworld, and still she had neither seen nor heard from Killian. She understood that he was still upset with her for turning him into a Dark One, and that he was reeling from all he had been through since, but she had hoped that once she saved him, things would get back to normal. It appeared she was wrong.

Being in the house that he had picked out for them, even now that Henry was living there part-time (most of the time since the baby had gone home with Regina and Robin) and they had covered just about every inch in Christmas decorations, felt wrong without Killian there. It seemed too empty to her, without the future that he had pictured for them. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask him what that future involved - did he want to live together, get married, have kids? Such thoughts buzzed through Emma’s brain as she strolled through Storybrooke, her feet unconsciously taking her toward the docks.

She had never once considered having another kid, but then she had seen Regina, Robin, and little Holly and she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. To a little boy with her blonde hair and Killian’s blue eyes and a little girl with jet black hair like him and emerald eyes like her. Emma thought about whose nose a baby might have and whose ears. Whether they would have a rough and tumble pirate or a delicate princess. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the image of a little baby, of getting to see all the things she missed with Henry. The idea scared her a little, but not as much as she thought it might have. Except now Killian was gone, not talking to her, and he had taken with him any chance of such a future.

Without realizing it, Emma had reached the docks, her feet standing at the very edge of the wooden planks, the toes of her boots hanging off. She let out a deep sigh, her breath creating a little puff of mist in the cold night air. The Jolly Roger was only a few docks over, but Emma kept her eyes fixed on the horizon. She had not seen this coming, hadn’t prepared herself for this situation. She had started to believe Killian when he said he wasn’t going anywhere, when he said he was a survivor, and then he had nearly died and she - she had done terrible things, driven him away, probably for good. Her heart felt like it was cracking, fissures forming along old fault lines, just waiting for him to say the words, to tell her it was over, before it would shatter irreparably.

She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind her, scuffing the toes of her boots on the wood as warm tears stung her frozen cheeks.

“Swan,” he croaked, his voice dry and husky as though he hadn’t spoken in days.

Emma whirled around quickly, and it was only Killian’s hand on her waist that prevented her from toppling backward into the frigid water. As soon as she was stable, he pulled his hand away, tucking it back into his pocket and looking down and the wood beneath his feet.

“I saw you approach from the Jolly,” he said in explanation, not looking up at her. “I thought perhaps you had come to talk.”

“I didn’t,” Emma answered hurriedly, not wanting to irritate him by making him think she couldn’t respect his need for space. He nodded and began to turn away, but Emma took a step forward, bursting with the need to be close to him now that he was right there. “Killian, wait.”

He paused, half turned away from her.

“I - I didn’t come to talk, I just needed to think,” she continued, saying more than she meant to due to nerves. “But now we’re both here, so - so, can we talk?”

“Aye, Swan, if you’d like,” he answered, turning to face her once more, fingers unconsciously traveling up to scratch behind his ear.

He said nothing else, and Emma fidgeted nervously as she waited for him, needing him to tell her what was going through his head so she could deal with whatever it was.

“Killian, please, tell me what you’re thinking,” she pleaded after a moment, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m thinking a great many things, Swan,” he said simply, and she felt frustration tug at her emotions.

“Tell me. If you’re angry with me, tell me, if there’s something you want from me,  _tell me.”_

“Angry, Swan? I’m bloody livid!” Killian replied, his tone fierce. “What you did to me - how could you?” Emma opened her mouth to reply, but he barreled on. “You turned me back into the man I hated, after I worked so hard to change, for you. You took away my choice, Swan. You, you -”

“I know, Killian,” she interrupted, reaching a hand out tentatively, but not quite touching him. “I know what I did, and I’m so, so -”

“Sorry?” he scoffed. “And you think that’s enough?”

“No,” she whispered, bowing her head. “If you want to end this, Killian, us, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“End this?” he exclaimed, his voice harsh and incredulous. “Do you know what the worst part of all this is?” His eyes softened slightly and his voice cracked as he continued. “I try to think what I would have done had it been you, lying in my arms, bleeding, dying. Had I the power to save you, despite the cost, what would I have done? And I just can’t, I cannot truthfully tell myself that I would have done anything differently, Swan.”

Emma lifted her eyes to meet his, a tiny spark of hope flaring to life in her gut.

“I think about losing you, Emma, and I just - I can’t lose you, love,” Killian stated, scratching once more behind his ear.

“Then - then why have you been staying away from me the past few days?” she inquired, still feeling nervous.

“Because loving you, Swan, doesn’t mean that everything is alright,” he answered, eyes pained as he reached out and ran his thumb over her cheek, a sad smile gracing his lips as she leaned into his touch.

“What can I do to make it better?” she asked, her hands moving to rest on the lapels of his leather jacket, index finger playing with the string of the sweatshirt peaking out from underneath.

“Time, love,” he replied, his hooked hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her a step closer. “All I need is a little time to heal.”

Emma shuffled even closer, pressing her body against his as his arm tightened around her, one hand traveling up to rest on his cheek, almost mirroring his stance. Killian tipped his head forward so his forehead was resting against hers as they breathed in each other’s air. Their lips were only centimeters apart and it was taking all of Emma’s self control not to close the gap, wanting to let him lead for once. She didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually, he pressed his lips carefully to hers, fitting them together perfectly as hers parted underneath his. She felt his long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as his eyes closed and she leaned into the kiss as though she would die without it. When he pulled away, she couldn’t help but chase his lips slightly, bringing a small smile to his face.

“Killian,” Emma whispered, her breath hot on his face, “can we heal together?” 

“Aye, love, I think that would be good,” he answered, before pressing another soft, slow kiss to her lips, unable to resist.

“Maybe at home?” she asked hesitantly when he pulled away again. “At least for Christmas? If - if you still want it to be our home.”

Instead of answering her, Killian laced his fingers through hers and began walking, leading her in the direction of the house. Snow began to fall in soft flurries as they walked in comfortable silence, the sun just starting to lighten the sky. Killian’s hook is on the gate of the picket fence when Emma stops him with a hand on his elbow.

“When you picked this house,” she started, nervous once more, “what did you picture?”

“What do you mean, Swan?” he asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Well the house was for our future. What did you imagine for our future?” His hand shifted to her waist, thumb rubbing back and forth gently as he took a moment to consider his answer.

“I imagined us, Swan, happy, together. Beyond that, I’m not sure.” He scratched behind his ear absentmindedly with his hook, and then let out a small curse when he accidentally cut himself. “I thought of a great many things, but I wasn’t sure what you might want, and beyond being with you there is nothing that I need to make me happy.”

Emma stretched up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Merry Christmas, Killian,” she whispered in his ear, snuggling her nose into his neck.

“Aye love, Merry Christmas.” 


	18. I Gave You My Heart to Break (But I Never Thought You'd Do It)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Because I have a lot of post s5e10 feels (and I’m betting Emma does too). Welcome to my little cave of angst and sadness. Enjoy your stay.

_Don’t worry, love. A broken knee is nothing on a broken heart. Isn’t that right, Swan?_

Emma lay curled up on her side on the gray couch in her living room, replaying the scene from earlier in her head as tears trickled down her cheeks. She couldn’t help but hear Killian’s words echo in her head, thick with spite as spat out the words he knew would hurt her most.

_Oh, Swan. Of course I still have feelings for you… Anger. Hatred. Disappointment._

_You don’t mean that._

Except the look on his face said that he did. The way his eyes had darkened as he said it, turned to a navy that almost blended in with his pupils. She saw the hatred that had taken root there, the disappointment that stole the love from his eyes.

_I see clearly now that you were nothing more than a pretty blonde distraction. But guess what, Swan? I am a free man now._

She tried to imagine her future without Killian, and she found herself clutching tightly to the pillow under her head, no longer trying to keep the tears in.

_Everything I did, I did for you._

_Well, you see, that’s your problem, Swan. You’re so afraid of losing the people that you love that you push them away. And that’s why you’ll always be an orphan. You don’t need some villain swooping in to destroy your happiness. You do that quite well all on your own._

He was right, she thought to herself. This was all her fault. It was because of her that everyone hated her, because of her that her son was miserable, her parents mistrusting, Regina suspicious of someone she was finally beginning to believe was a friend. It was her fault that Killian was gone, that the darkness had overwhelmed him and made him hateful. It was her fault that the man she loved was battling this war inside. It was her fault, all her fault.

_Why are you doing this?_

_Because… I want to hurt you… like you hurt me._

If hurting her had been his goal, he had certainly succeeded. In all her years of abandonment, fear, loneliness, betrayal, Emma had never felt so much pain. She sobbed even harder than before, unable to stop, letting the tears flow free and unchecked and ugly.

Emma heard the front door open slowly, but she didn’t even turn her face to see who it was. Probably Killian, she thought to herself, here to mock me some more. She couldn’t even find the energy to care if it was. Let him come, use her until she was a dried up shell of a person. She was halfway there already.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret’s voice called out tentatively.

There were footsteps in the foyer that stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and Emma knew Mary Margaret was looking around, trying to decide which way to go first to look.

“Emma?” she repeated, and she must have heard Emma’s sniffling, because a few seconds later the footsteps head towards the sitting room.

The middle of the couch, near Emma’s stomach, sank down just a touch as Mary Margaret sat down, her hand reaching out to stroke Emma’s hair, tucking a loose strand back behind her ear and smoothing all the little baby hairs down against her head.

“Oh, sweetheart, what happened?” Mary Margaret crooned, but Emma only shook her head, sobbing harder. “Come here, honey,” she said, lifting Emma’s head and scooting over quickly before placing it back down on her lap, continuing to stroke her hair soothingly.

“Killian...” Emma whimpered, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her mother’s pants.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Mary Margaret said calmly, making reassuring sounds.

“My fault... messed up... hurt Killian... gone...” Emma couldn’t seem to string together full sentences, or even thoughts, as she cried into her mother’s lap.

“He’ll come back, baby, don’t worry,” Mary Margaret said, leaning down to place a small kiss on Emma’s head. “We’ll fix this, I promise, Emma.”

“Mom...” Emma replied, lifting her head slightly to look at her mother with red-rimmed eyes. “I really screwed up.”

Mary Margaret sighed heavily, unable to lie to her daughter, but still wanting to comfort her.

“Well, yes, but it’s okay, sweetheart, everybody makes mistakes.”

“This mistake really takes the cake, though,” Emma countered sullenly.

“Emma, I promise we will fix this,” Mary Margaret assured her, wrapping her arms around her tightly. “And in time, he’ll forgive you.”

“How do you know?” Emma asked, sniffling again and feeling like a heartbroken teenager rather than a omnipotent thirty year old.

“Because he loves you,” Mary Margaret answered simply, resuming her ministrations on Emma’s hair, “and that’s what you do when you love someone. Your father forgave me for hitting him in the face with a rock.”

“That’s not really the same...” Emma started, but Mary Margaret interrupted with a sigh.

“Remember in Henry’s book, when I broke your father’s heart and told him that I didn’t love him?” she asked.

“But you were trying to protect him, to save him,” Emma reasoned, her brow furrowed.

“But I hurt him nonetheless,” Mary Margaret replied, her voice sad. “And in time, he forgave me for it. Besides, isn’t that exactly what you were trying to do with Killian?”

“Yes, but -”

“One day he’ll understand that, Emma,” Mary Margaret continued. “Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but one day. And when that day comes, he’ll forgive you.”

“I just don’t know if I can believe that, Mom,” Emma said quietly, tears springing free from her eyes once more. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. But I promise you, everything  _will_  be alright. You and Killian will get through this.” She pressed another kiss to Emma’s head and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Mary Margaret made no attempt to leave as the tears came and went throughout the afternoon, content to stay in and comfort her daughter as long as necessary.

For a few hours, Emma didn’t feel like the Dark One anymore, she felt only like a heartbroken girl seeking comfort with her mother. 


	19. Tis The Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a little bit of holiday angst(?)/fluff because why not?

“Killian, do you want to come pick out a tree with me and Mom?” the tall, gangly, brown-haired teen asked, addressing his sort-of step-father.

“What?” he replied in confusion, having not been paying attention to a single thing, lost in the turbulent sea of his own thoughts.

“Um, we have this holiday, in December –“ Emma started to explain, her hand resting on his knee as they sat on the couch, a bowl of popcorn perched on her lap so that both of her boys could reach it while they watched the movie.

“I know what Christmas is,” Killian snapped back at her, and Emma recoiled from him like she had been burned. “I was born in this land, you forget.”

Before she could say another word, he had stood from his place on the couch and walked away, and Emma heard the back door close a moment later. He walked through their yard, down the path that led to the water’s edge, and he stood there for a long time, picking up small stones and throwing them, sometimes skipping them, into the water. He couldn’t get his mind to stop spinning, no matter how hard he tried.

This had been the one thing he had loved about living in other realms – Neverland, the Enchanted Forest, none of them had this bloody holiday. He felt like a veritable scrooge, but he had never been able to get in the holiday spirit, not in many years at least. When he was a very small lad, Killian had loved Christmas, simple though their celebrations were. They only got one present each from “Santa”, it was all they could afford, but his mum made the most fantastic roast, with mince pies and Yorkshire pudding, and custard for dessert. Sometimes, if it had been a good month, they would even get little crackers to pull apart, with paper crowns inside, and Killian would go to bed that night and dream of being a prince, of a house that wasn’t cold and draughty, of fine tailored clothes instead of ill-fitting hand-me-downs, of more toys than he could count. Until the Christmas when it all went wrong. He was only six the Christmas that his mum had pneumonia, and she couldn’t make the usual roast (hadn’t been able to make dinner in weeks really), and instead of presents on Christmas morning, they had a funeral mass to arrange. There were no Christmas crackers that year, no tree, no mince pies, no Santa. There were tears, and hands squeezed, and raindrops that feel on bare heads and traced the already salty tracks down faces. And after that year, Killian hated Christmas.

“Hey.” He jumped when Emma’s voice softly broke his reverie, and he turned to see her walking toward him in her thick coat, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans.

“Hey,” he echoed, feeling guilty for the way he had snapped at her earlier.

“I brought you a scarf,” she said quietly, holding out the deep crimson piece of fabric as evidence. When she was close enough, she looped it gently around his neck, tucking it into his leather jacket. “Do you want to talk about what’s been bothering you lately?”

He shuffled his feet a little and looked out over the water, trying to find the words to tell her everything he was feeling. He did want to talk to her, but it had been so long since he had told anyone, he couldn’t really remember how to.

“Hey, Killian,” she whispered, her voice as soft as a blanket, and she reached her hand up so her fingers could wipe away the tears he hadn’t realized were falling from his eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… I’m afraid I’m not much one for Christmas, Swan,” he said, trying to pretend that he wasn’t feeling quite as deeply as he was. He flashed her a weak smile that she didn’t return. Instead, Emma pulled him down so they were sitting on the pebbled beach, taking his hand and hook in both her hands. He took a great big, shuddering sigh, and forced himself to start talking. “My mum died on Christmas Eve,” he whispered, turning back to face the water so she wouldn’t see just how much pain was in his eyes. “When I was a young lad, before my dad left us, and it’s just… it’s never felt the same since.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked him, not in accusation or hurt, but out of concern for him.

“Seems odd to say, hey by the way, this holiday that everyone loves so much is actually the anniversary of my mother’s death, so maybe we could not do it?” he quipped, voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

“Killian…” Emma’s voice was gentle as she placed her fingers on his chin and turned his face to look at her once more. “You don’t have to deal with things alone. Ever. Not anymore. I know that you’ve been through so much, carried so much pain in your heart for so many years, but you don’t have to do it alone. If you let me help you, if you let me bear the burden with you, it might not be so bad, it might not hurt so much.”

“How?” he asked, the one word all he could manage at that moment, choked up with emotion as he was.

“Tell me about her, if you want,” Emma suggested, shrugging her shoulders. “Tell me how to remind you of her in ways that make you happy, or tell me when it’s getting to be too much and making you sad. Give my hand a squeeze when you’re thinking about her, or Liam, and you don’t want to talk, you just need support.”

“You would do that?” he inquired, a little bit in awe of her.

“Killian, I love you,” she answered, holding his hand tighter, “and besides, I think we’ve pretty much established that I’ll do anything for you.”

“Aye, Swan,” he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth for the first time that day. “I love you too,” Killian mumbled against her lips, and the vibrations made her smile.

“For now, I’ll tell Henry to chill out with the Christmas stuff,” she told him before pressing her lips to his once more.

It was several minutes before their cold-reddened noses and chapped fingers prompted them to return to the warmth of the house and the movie they had been watching.


	20. All you sinners, stand up, sing 'Hallelujah'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really don’t hate Milah or anything, but for some reason I just couldn’t get on board with the idea that everyone from Killian’s past will be helpful to Emma and the others in the Underworld, so I wrote a thing. Lots of feels and angst ahead, so be warned. But I do hope you enjoy. Rated, well, whatever you want to rate foul language.

His life wasn't exactly awful, but it wasn't exactly spectacular either. He had a really hot girlfriend, he had to give himself that. Most days they were miserable together though. Especially since he could not seem to give her the one thing she wanted more than anything – a child. The fought near every day, about that and many other things, and it seemed as though he just couldn't do anything right. He thought they must have been happy once, had vague, almost dream-like memories of cheerful days with her, but they were always on the outskirts of his mind, like a word on the tip of your tongue that you just can't remember. Killian Jones was never quite sure why he didn't leave Milah. Cowardice, he supposed. He had thought about it, more than once, but she always seemed to know, and she would look at him with a crazy possessive gleam in her eye and all considerations of fleeing their loveless relationship vanished.

Until the day a beautiful blonde woman in a red leather jacket turned up on his doorstep and looked at him like he had hung the damn moon and lit the stars, and he had  _never_  seen anyone look at him that way in his life. By gods he wanted to see that expression again though.

"Can I help you?" Killian asked her, and he saw her face fall a little.

"My – my name is Emma Swan," she stammered a little. "I'm, um, looking for a Killian Jones?"

"Aye, that'd be me," he replied, and she didn't seem at all surprised by this information. He wondered vaguely if he had met her before and forgotten. She did seem familiar, but he couldn't place from where. He waited for her to continue talking, but she merely gazed at him, the smile on her face replaced by a look of confliction, as though there were a battle waging inside her mind. "Did you need me for something?"

"Oh, right, um, yeah." She blinked rapidly and shook her head to clear her mind. "I, um, I'm a journalist, and I'm interviewing residents of the town for a book I'm writing – small town charm and all that good stuff."

"Ah, I see, well," he heard Milah coming down the stairs, and his gut instinct told him that should would not approve of this harmless new visitor. "Now isn't the best time, love, but perhaps we could meet again another time?"

"Sure," she answered with a shrug. "I passed by a little diner earlier, how about coffee there tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds lovely, anytime before 8 should work," he told her, thinking Milah would be at work then and thus blissfully unaware of his activities.

"Great," Emma said, smiling a shy little grin, and he couldn't help but return it. "I'll be there around 6:30, probably, I like to get an early start on the day."

"Right then, love, I shall see you in the morning," he grinned at her, and then he stepped back inside the shabby little house and closed the door behind him.

He never saw the lone tear drop that ran down Emma's cheek as she turned away from him, walking down the street unsure of how to continue.

\\\

They met every day for over a week, and Killian would have been lying if he had said there was even a small part of him that didn't look forward to spending time with Emma Swan each morning. He got up earlier and earlier to each day to meet her, so they could have more time before he had to leave so as to avoid Milah's ire. They talked about nothing, and everything, and he had never felt more open, more understood. He learned that she had a difficult childhood (much like himself), and that her relationship with her family was complicated, though they loved each other greatly (how he wished he could say the same). He discovered that she had a son named Henry, and he was shocked at how young she must have been to have a lad so old already (he learned it was not through happy circumstances). He told Emma about his life at home, dull and unhappy though it may be, and she gave him understanding looks and sympathetic nods. After a few days, she reached out and took his hand while he was telling her of his brother (whom he had wounded irreparably), and her touch warmed him. He thought frequently of how much he enjoyed his time with her, of how natural this new – friendship? – seemed to come, of how he felt something that very nearly might be called love for this woman.

It was during just such thoughts on the tenth morning in a row that they were having coffee, that Milah stormed into the diner, rage rolling off of her like a tempest.  _This_ , he thought to himself,  _was precisely what I had hoped to avoid._  He shrank a little in his seat at the booth, practically willing himself invisible, though it did little good.

"What the fuck is this, Killian?" Milah hissed as she approached, her eyes manic, and he genuinely good not understand why she was so upset. He had known she would be, but it still seemed completely illogical. And the more time he had spent with Emma, the more he had a feeling that there was something that he was missing.

"Um, Milah, this is Emma Swan, she's –"

"I know what she is," Milah cut across him viciously, and she turned her attention to the blonde across the table from him. "So, you're here to take him away?"

"What?" Killian blinked in confusion. "No, Milah, I think, that's completely absurd…" he stammered, but the women ignored him completely.

"That's the plan," Emma replied, standing up to face the raging brunette, hands on her hips, and Killian's jaw dropped so far, he would have sworn it hit the ground. There was  _definitely_  something he was missing.

"He doesn't even remember," Milah snarled, and Killian could swear her voice sounded wrong – like it was echoing from everywhere in the room all at once.

"There's a quick fix for that," Emma answered cockily, and she moved quickly, before he or Milah could react. She reached over to where he was standing (he hadn't even realized he had stood up) and grabbed his lapel, tugging him to her and pressing her lips to his.

The effect was instantaneous. His eyes blew wide as the memories flooded back, of Emma, of their life, their love, their sacrifices. He remembered giving his life to save her family, to save her. He remembered dying.  _So this must be Hell._  He wanted, more than anything, to pull Emma close and kiss her until they ran out of oxygen, but Milah began to shriek like a bloody banshee, and Killian spun to face her, his arm out across Emma as though to protect her. But Milah was no longer the pretty woman he had once loved – he face was contorted with rage, eyes gleaming red as her fingernails lengthened into talons and wings began to sprout from her shoulder blades.

"You cannot take him, he belongs to us now," Milah boomed, but the voice that issued from her mouth was no longer hers. It was low and loud, echoing through Killian's head and making his ears ring, somewhere between a hiss and a growl.

"Watch me," Emma snarled in response, and Killian felt magic radiating off of her in waves as her temper mounted.

She took up an offensive stance and let loose a stream of golden light that hit Milah square in the chest, doing nothing but causing her to hiss in anger.

"You'll have to do better than that," Milah taunted, rising into the air as her wings unfurled.

A second jet of light burst from Emma's fingertips, but Milah ducked, and the magic merely shattered a shelf of plates on the wall of the diner. Talon-like fingers reached out and grabbed at Killian's arm, hooking into the flesh and drawing him close as she hissed threats to the blonde. Another stream of light from Emma's hands hit Milah hard enough to make her release Killian, and he backed away as quickly as possible.

"Killian, go, find Regina and the others," she told him in a commanding voice, but he stood firm.

"I am not bloody leaving you, Swan," he growled back, stepping closer to her.

"I've got this, but you need to get out of here while you can," she answered, "and if you don't leaving willingly, I will force you out of this damn diner."

"Swan…"

"Go!" she yelled as she sent another spurt of magic at Milah.

Killian back out the front door, hating every moment of moving willingly away from her, but he trusted her, and if she didn't follow him _very quickly_ , he could return with Regina as backup.

(She came running down the street after him mere minutes later, panting and shoving him ahead her, muttering about 'not much time'.)

(They barely made it out ahead the fury-Milah.)

\--- --- --- --- ---

He could tell something was bothering Emma. After their initial happy reunion, she seemed to become lost in her thoughts, the radiant smile that had been lighting up her face replaced by a contemplative frown.

"Love?" Killian asked, tentatively breaking through her stupor.

"Mmm?" she hummed by way of an answer, not really sounding as though she were paying him any attention.

"Emma, love, is something bothering you?" he tried again, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"No, of course not," she replied, flashing him a smile that he could tell was fake. It was all wrong, it didn't reach her eyes, it barely even turned the corners of her mouth upward.

"Please don't lie to me, love," he said, taking a deep breath to gather the courage to continue. "If you don't wish for me to stay here, Emma, if you're still upset over the things I said, I wouldn't blame you. If you want to end our –"

"Don't you even think about finish that sentence, Killian," she snapped, whirling on him. "I did not go all the way to the Underworld, fight your demonic ex-girlfriend, trick Hades himself, and rip my heart in two, just to bring you back and then have either one of us break this off because we're fucking scared, or our walls have gone up, or, or anything else really!"

"Then what is bothering you? And don't tell me nothing," he warned, feeling his temper grow thin in response to her outburst.

"Really, Killian, it's silly," she said, looking at him with softness in her emerald eyes, but he didn't miss the movement her fingers made as they brushed over her forearm, the precise spot where his tattoo had been permanently inked.

"Emma…" He let out a low growl of frustration.

"I'm just feeling a little jealous," she answered, crossing her arms over her chest, as though trying to protect herself from – feeling.

"Of what?" he asked, but he had a sneaking suspicion what the answer would be, and it irritated him enough that he did not step closer to her or attempt to comfort her. "Let me guess, Milah."

Her silence was enough to confirm his accusation, and Killian felt his irritation burn and boil in his stomach, turning into a seething anger.

"You're jealous of a woman who's been dead for centuries, Swan?" he clarified, voice growing louder.

"Killian, I know," Emma sighed, trying desperately to placate him before this fight got out of hand (the darkness had left them a little raw and prone to angry outbursts sometimes). "Look, it's just that you, well, you had a life with her there, and I wonder sometimes if you don't think about that now. If you don't look at everything we have, and can have in the future, and don't wish it were with her."

"I was never engaged to her, Swan," he spat in reply, and clearly Emma's explanation had done nothing to soothe his anger. "I wasn't the one who agreed to marry a bloody demonic monkey!"

"Apparently I'm not the only one who's jealous," she muttered in reply, the cheap blow at her relationship with Walsh stinging her pride and triggering some anger of her own.

"Of course I am, Swan!" he yelled, ears turning crimson. He seemed to lose all power of coherent speech after that, stammering through the thoughts that were swirling in his mind. "You – he – you and him – and Baelfire, of course – _together_ – and we aren't – but them –"

"Killian!" Emma interjected loudly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I have been very patient, Emma," he said, his eyes softening as he looked at her, much of the anger dissipating the moment his blue eyes met her green ones. "And I want to be patient, that's not the problem. You and me, it's – it should be different, special. But sometimes, I can't help but think about them, with you, and their hands on you, and I want to punch them."

"You're upset that I slept with Neal and Walsh?" Emma clarified, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I – I don't know, yes, perhaps," he suddenly looked deflated, as though all the energy had gone from his body and actually made him smaller. His shoulders slouched forwards and his head hung as he looked at the floor, studying his feet carefully. "You loved them," he added after a moment, his voice so quiet, she had to take a moment to be sure of what he had said.

"Just like you loved Milah," Emma replied at last, and he shook his head fervently.

"It's not the same, Swan," he said, his voice firm again, a hint of desperation colouring his tone. "Milah was different, she was never – I loved her, aye, but there was never a future. No thought of it really, not once. We never planned to marry, or have children –" Emma felt a little bit of surprise at the mention of kids, but if Killian noticed, he didn't address it "- or anything beyond what we did every day, beyond sailing the seas and stopping at ports to drink and gamble and – and be merry. But you were going to _marry_ the monkey, Swan. That's a pretty big implication for the future. And I know that when you were younger, you wished to spend a future with Baelfire, you've implied as much many times. And it's just _different_. If things hadn't happened the way they did, if Baelfire hadn't abandoned you or the monkey turned out to be a demonic minion of Zelena, you would have chosen to spend your life with them, and I – I wouldn't have you."

"Killian," Emma answered, reaching out to him and placing her hands on his arms, running them soothingly up and down. "I get that it's different, I do. But you don't need to second-guess what happened in the past. It doesn't matter what might have been otherwise, because Neal _did_ abandon me, and Walsh _did_ turn out to be evil. So who cares about the rest?"

"But what if you change your mind about me?" he said, so quietly, and so insecure, that Emma felt like her heart was breaking.

"Because I've felt this way for other people?" she asked him, and he nodded. Emma took a step closer to him and cradled his face in one hand. "Killian, how long did I run from this? From us?"

"I don't know, love, since Neverland I suppose," he whispered.

"You're wrong. I was running from the moment I tied you to that tree," she smiled at him, and he gave her a watery grin in reply. "Why do you think I ran for so long? Because I have _never_ felt this way for anyone else before. Killian, it took three hundred years for us to be together. I'm not really one for fate, but that's some pretty undeniable proof that this thing we've got going here isn't just some do over of a past fling. This is different for me too – you're different."

"I love you, Emma," he said, pulling her into a tight hug and nuzzling his face into her neck.

"You know how I'm going to prove it?" she asked him, and he shook his head, tickling her with his beard and making her giggle. "I'm going to do something that I've never done for anyone else."

"Aye? What's that?"

"I'm going to give you a pet name," she chuckled, and she thought she heard Killian groan into her skin. "What'dya think, babe?" He definitely did groan. "Sweetie?" He growled a little and nipped at her neck, and she laughed harder. "Honey bun?"

His lips were covering hers as soon as the words were out, preventing her from uttering any more absurd names for him.

"That's not necessary, Swan," he said when he pulled away from her slightly.

"But I think snookums really suits you," she teased, and he pressed his lips to hers again as she started laughing, although he couldn't stop a smile himself.

"I love you too, Killian," Emma whispered to him, resting her forehead against his as she ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His hand was on her back, fingers tracing light circles on her skin through the fabric of her shirt. They stood in silence for a while, not needing to speak anymore, more than content to just hold each other.

"Never," Killian said quietly, a single word disturbing the silence after several minutes.

"What?" she hummed in reply, unsure of what he meant.

"I have _never_ thought of the future we have together," he elaborated, blue eyes boring into her earnestly, "and wished it was with anyone other than you, Emma."

She snuggled closer to him, and his arms wrapped around her more tightly, holding her to him as though his life depended on it.

"I love you," she whispered into his chest, and she heard him almost purring with contentment. "You're all I need."


	21. That Don't Sound Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For the most lovely @captain-swan-in-the-tardis because it’s her birthday and she deserves something special. You wanted the Jones Brothers and/or Captain Swan, so here’s what I’ve got for you. I hope you like it! This starts out kind of angsty (and obviously I wrote this before I watched last night’s episode) and then gets super fluffy.

They didn’t go looking for him, they didn’t even find him on purpose. Why it never occurred to them to look for him as soon as Killian was able, Emma doesn’t know. She supposed it was because they assumed that Liam must have moved on already, that for whatever reason, they had just assumed he was already in whatever better place awaited those who accomplished their unfinished business. It was entirely an accident that they found him.

Emma had seen him in Granny’s when they first arrived, when they were still looking for Killian, but, having never seen a picture of Liam, she didn’t know who it was. Standing in front of him, she was amazed that she had missed it - they were so alike, how could she not recognize him immediately? The same blue eyes, the same mouth that twisted to form the same expressions. They had different noses and ears though, different hair, Liam’s face was rounder. She didn’t know who looked like which parent, but she supposed each took after one more than the other. But still, there is no mistaking the light that turned Liam greyish-blue eyes to a bright Mediterranean blue when he first saw his brother. There was no mistaking the smile that turned the corners of his lips upward (a little lopsided). She had seen it before on Killian.

“Little brother?” Liam had said as he had stopped dead in his tracks in front of them, walking toward them from across the docks, and Killian halted too, pulling Emma to a stop with him from their joined hands.

He had released her hand without looking backwards as he took the last few steps to his brother, both of them crashing into each other’s arms and thumping each other hard on the back as they tried to choke back all the emotions crashing over them. _Centuries. It’s been centuries since they were together_ , Emma had reminded herself, tamping down the jealousy and insecurities that were tugging on her heartstrings because he had still yet to look back at her.

“Liam,” Killian had spoken at last, when he caught his brother looking curiously over his shoulder after they had pulled apart to regard each other from arms length. “I’d like you to meet my - my -” he had seemed to struggle for the right word. What were they to each other? “Emma,” he had finished lamely. “Love, allow me to introduce my brother, Captain Liam Jones.”

She had blushed at the introduction, and held her hand out to shake Liam’s, but he had regarded her with a strange look and instead merely inclined his head toward her. _Shit. How had she already screwed up?_ Instead of continuing to talk in the open, Killian had suggested they return to the loft, and Emma had agreed, following behind the two brothers as they walked and feeling strangely like a third wheel. It felt like all Killian’s happiness at seeing her had dissipated the moment he had laid eyes on his brother.

And that was how they ended up sitting at the table in the loft, catching up on all the things the brothers had missed out on, and Emma couldn’t help but feel a slight strain in the room at her presence. When Killian’s story came to Milah, she tensed involuntarily, suddenly aware that this trip to the underworld had opened up a wound in her relationship with Killian that she wasn’t even aware had been there. Something else they would need to talk about, eventually. Whether he noticed this, or simply had impeccably good timing, Killian placed his hand on Emma’s knee, soothingly rubbing up and down while his thumb traced circles into her skin through the fabric of her jeans. And then she made her appearance to the story.

“Next thing I know, this lovely lass has a dagger to my throat and is threatening to summon the ogres if I don’t cooperate with them. And I’ll be damned if I don’t fall halfway in love with her right at that very moment.” 

Emma noticed Liam eyeing her with some curiosity, and she can’t help but flush under the intensity of his gaze. Killian continued his story, and Emma had to admit, she wasn’t coming off great - it was starting to seem like her only virtue was being pretty, and she could see much the same thought running through Liam’s mind. 

“And that, my dear brother, is how I ended up here.”

“Forgive me, Killian, but exactly how many times has this woman tried to kill you?” Liam questioned, flashing Emma a look that was laced with dislike as her cheeks turned brighter pink and Killian scratched nervously behind his ear.

“Liam, please,” he hissed, shooting his older brother a scandalized look, with a further apologetic glance at Emma.

“No, listen to me, little brother,” Liam countered.

“Younger,” Killian interrupted, mumbling, but Liam ignored him.

“From what you told me, I’ve counted at least four times she has attempted to kill you, one of those times was actually successful, in addition to one time that she killed you without meaning to!” He was on his feet, shouting, while Emma started resolutely at her feet, trying not to let the tears that were burning her eyes fall, and Killian stared dumbfounded at his brother.

“This is not like you, Liam,” he said, looking mortified.

“Excuse me,” Emma whispered, pushing her chair back from the table and standing to leave.

“Emma, wait,” Killian said, reaching out for her and missing as she walked away from them and out the door of the loft. He turned back to Liam, eyes blazing like blue flames. “You and I, brother, we are going to talk about this, and you had better believe that I will unleash three centuries of fury upon you if you speak about Emma with anything less than absolute respect and comity.”

Liam gaped at him for a moment, but Killian turned on his heel and grabbed his leather jacket from the hook where it hung, throwing it on as he bounded down the stairs after Emma.

“Swan!” he called out to her as he flung the door to the outside wide, but she just kept going. “Swan! Emma, love, please.”

She slowed her pace a little to allow him to catch up to her, but kept walking.

“Swan, I’m sorry, that’s not like him, he’s usually much more...” Killian struggled for words before huffing in frustration. “Actually its very like him, but only because he’s very protective of me. I’m afraid he still rather sees me as a young lad. Never really got over my growing up.”

“It’s fine, Killian, really, don’t worry about it,” she sniffed without looking at him, and he laid his hand on her arm, gently coaxing her to stop and face him.

“Emma,” he crooned, smoothing his thumb over his cheek, gazing at her with a look in his eyes like she lit up the world for him. “Emma listen to me, I’m going to fix this, I promise.”

“Killian -”

“No, Emma, look at me,” he lifted her chin until her green eyes met his blue ones. “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, Killian,” she whispered, her hands resting on his chest.

“But you know that I love you?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Yes, I do,” Emma answered, giving him a small smile.

“Then tell me what has you so upset,” he requested, holding her close to him when she let out a small huff of irritation. “I know Liam, but what about it? What’s going through that beautiful mind of yours?”

“I just want him to like me,” she whispered, feeling every bit like the lost little girl she used to be (she sometimes still is). “I know how much he means to you, and it feels like... it feels like... how can we be _right_  if he doesn’t think so?”

Killian considered her for a moment, taking in the anxiety that furrowed her brow and trying to understand everything that was behind her words.

“He doesn’t know you yet, he doesn’t understand the, ah, complexities of our relationship.” He thumbed at the dimple in her chin, giving her a small smile, the shy one that he saved only for her, the one that reminded her that they shared many of their insecurities. “Think about how much your father disliked me at first, until my considerable charms won him over,” he winked at her, and Emma couldn’t help but give a little laugh.

“He really hated you,” she murmured, reflecting on the days on David doing everything he could to keep them apart. “But he always wanted me to be happy.”

“My brother is the same, I assure you. Once he understands how much I love you, how much we love each other, he’ll come around. He just wants what’s best for me.” She sighed into him and Killian pulled her close, pressing a tender kiss against her lips and running his fingers through her hair.

“You go back to the loft, spend some time with your brother,” Emma said, breathing in his air after they pulled apart. “I’m going to go find my parents. And maybe something to eat.”

“Are you sure? Would you like me to come with you?” he asked, looking at her a little anxiously.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll be back as soon as I get them.” She smiled and gave him a quick kiss before walking away. His words had helped some, but she still felt more unsure of their relationship that she had in some time, more uncertain that she was worth his love. He had promised to be a survivor, he had promised not to leave her. But the more she let Liam’s words sink into her mind, the more she began to doubt that she deserved Killian and his promises.

Killian walked back to the loft, stewing in the conflict between the two people he loved most, and trying to decide what to do. Much as he loved his brother, he couldn’t help grow frustrated with his behavior. He was no longer a child, he didn’t need his big brother to tell him what to do anymore. Irritated, Killian slammed the door shut behind him as he entered the loft, his brother looking up in surprise.

“Has Emma -” Liam started to ask, but Killian cut him off.

“Listen to me for once, brother, and listen well,” he stated, glaring at his brother angrily. “Emma does not deserve your disapproval or your scorn. You have no idea what I was like before I met her, you have no idea. And you have no bloody clue what she has been through in her life. Everyone in her life has left her, she has been abandoned left and right, and I swore to her that I would not do the same. You have no clue what it cost her to - to send me here. She did it because it was what was right, it was what had to be done to save countless people, and I can only imagine the pain and the grief it caused her. The guilt over killing someone you love, Liam, you have no idea what that can do to a person.”

“Killian -”

“No, brother!” He was yelling and pacing back and forth, not even realizing how worked up he had become. “Sometimes, there is no alternative. Sometimes, try as you might, you cannot save someone. Sometimes, you can make all the right choices, have all the best intentions, and people still get hurt! It’s not my fault!” Killian paused as he realized his mistake, looking away from Liam, and letting out a loud huff. He hadn’t realized how much Liam’s condemnation of Emma felt like a condemnation of himself. “Her fault, it’s not her fault.”

“My death,” Liam said quietly, his blue eyes focused on Killian’s back, “my death was never your fault, Killian. Not for a single second of my time here have I blamed you for what happened.”

“I was the one -” Killian started to speak, turning back to face his brother.

“No,” Liam interrupted firmly. “I was blind, naive, stubborn, and many other things, brother. You are right, you did everything you could to prevent what happened. It was never your fault.”

“Emma -” Killian began, but once more, Liam interrupted him.

“You’re right, I don’t know what it does to a person to have to sacrifice one they love. I have never loved anyone except you, Killian.” Liam looked earnestly at his younger brother, blue eyes staring at their counterpart. “I cannot imagine, what I would do if I had been the one to… Going to hell to bring you back though, that sounds about right.”

Killian nodded, too full of emotion to speak. Normally, he was much better with words, with making eloquent speeches that conveyed his thoughts and moved people. In that moment though, he was choking on the love he had for his brother, on the guilt he had felt for so many years, on the forgiveness that was starting to seep through every cell in his body.

“You should give her my ring,” Liam suggested, clapping his brother on the back and then wrapping his arm around his shoulder.

“I already did,” Killian laughed, still feeling full of emotion. “To keep her safe, as it did me for so long.”

“And did you ask her a very important question when you did?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow in a look that was very reminiscent of his younger brother.

“Ah, no,” Killian answered, scratching behind his ear. “Emma is a little… those things scare her sometimes.”

“But you want to?” Liam pushed.

“When the time is right,” Killian replied quietly, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Good,” Liam grinned, hugging Killian close for a moment. “You need a good woman.”

“Aye, I need _her.”_

The door opened and Emma walked in, looking a little bit hesitant, but Killian grinned widely at her, giving her the usual look like she had hung the moon, and Liam seemed more relaxed.

“I brought grilled cheeses, and I got fries and onion rings,” she looked at Liam and tried to smile warmly, “I didn’t know what you like.”

“Onion rings,” Liam answered. “I definitely prefer onion rings.”

Killian chuckled as he took the bag from Emma, placing a light kiss on her temple and resting his hook on her waist. They sat down at the table again and dug in, laughing when Killian got melted cheese in his scruff and tried to wipe it off with his hook, only making more of a mess. Liam told Emma about Killian as a child, and in return she told him about his brother as a hero, and Killian spent the whole time scratching behind his ear as his cheeks flushed bright red. 

It was good, it was nice how easily they fit together, the three of them, and Emma went to bed that night - tucked into Killian’s side - trying hard to think of a way for them to bring Liam back with them.


	22. Hope's got nothing on surprise

She had gotten her hopes up. It was just - they had been trying for so long, at least it felt like it was a long time. And each month brought nothing but disappointment, and there hadn’t even been a time yet when she even thought she might be pregnant, but then last week she was late and she thought maybe… She had gotten her hopes up. That they were finally going to have their chance, but no, the damn test had come back negative, and Emma… Emma had been heartbroken, crushed, and Killian had pulled her close to him, whispered in her ear that he loved her, that it didn’t matter. He told her to keep hoping, but she didn’t want to, not if hoping meant feeling like that every month.

When it happened again, a few months later, and she was late again, Emma didn’t get her hopes up. She told herself that it didn’t mean anything, that it could easily be the anxiety of Henry starting high school, or the stress of the latest crisis in Storybrooke, or really anything else. She bought a few tests, but she wasn’t feeling at all optimistic as she waited for the results. It was almost better that way. When she saw the answer all three tests gave her, Emma’s heart soared, leapt, somersaulted. She threw herself into Killian’s bewildered arms, and when she whispered in his ears that she loved him, that she loved them, she watched as his blue eyes widened and he spun her around and yes, maybe she shouldn’t have given up hope, but that moment was worth it all, every second. She would let Killian and her parents be the ones to teach their kid about the importance of hope, and Emma would be the one to teach them how wonderful surprises could be.


	23. Should this be the last thing I see...

_…I want you to know its enough for me  
‘Cause all that you are is all that I’ll ever need_

Killian grabbed her hand through the bars of the elevator, unable to help the tears pricking the backs of his eyes, and he squeezed tighter for it. It was the end, it was the last time he was going to see her. Unless of course, everyone was right, and the afterlife did involve some kind of ability to watch loved ones, but he hardly believed that.

She was so beautiful, even as her tear stained face rose away from him. Gods above, she was beautiful. His mind played scenes from their time together, even from their time before they were a _them_. He saw her threatening him with a knife against his throat and his back pressed to a beanstalk, he saw her with a look of uncertainty as she left him chained at the mercy of a giant, he saw her as she begged him not to use the last magic bean. He saw Emma, grabbing his lapels and hauling his lips to hers, his fingers tangling in his hair. He saw her dressed as a peasant, seducing his past self, and dressed as a princess enchanting his present. He saw her kissing him senseless outside Granny’s diner, and he saw her as she leapt on top of him after fearing her father killed him for good. He saw her the moment she ran him through with Excalibur, grief flooding through her mind, and the moment she rescued him from Hades’ lair.

And yet it was this moment, as he stood there, watching her leave him with tears in her eyes, this moment that he knew he would remember. It was then that he knew that he was her _everything_ , just as she was his. For so long he had wondered, if she felt the same way about him at all, if she felt it to the same degree. He had known for so long that she was his world, his life, his future. But he had wondered if he was hers. When she had told him she loved him, he had been ecstatic, but there was a small voice in the back of his mind that had asked, _sure, but how much?_ When she had begged him to stay with her in Camelot, he had thought surely then, they were evenly matched, unable to imagine life without the other, but the voice beat him again, whispering, _yes, but she doesn’t love you enough to care what you want._ But this, as she moved away from him, as she told him to move on, not to wait for her, to find what lay beyond. He knew then, that she loved him as deeply as he loved her, beyond wanting a life and a future together, to wanting what was best for the other, no matter how much it made you hurt. And that was enough. If he could not have a future with her, that that was enough. Just knowing that she loved him in the same way.

Killian pressed his lips to her hand, and he heard Emma choke back a sob, their hands being pulled apart. He tried to hold on for as long as he could, grasping at her fingertips, but all too soon she was out of reach, and he could do nothing else but watch her recede. It was enough, she was enough, and she would always be enough for him.


	24. Hold Onto Me, I'm a Little Unsteady

_Mother, I know that you're tired of being alone_   
_Dad, I know you're trying to fight when you feel like flying_   
_But if you love me, don't let go_

"Killy, Killy wake up." Liam Jones shook his four year old brother's shoulder, and he saw the little boy's blue eyes blink open sleepily.

"Wha-?" he groaned, trying to cover his head with his small pillow, but Liam yanked it away.

"Killy, you have to get up, come on," he said, tugging on his brother's hand.

"Why?" Killian whined, slowly swinging his legs off the bed, his little fist rubbing at his eyes.

"Mama's... she's... just come, Killy," Liam tried to explain, but words failed him.

Killian's blue eyes widened, and he understood. Even at four years old, he knew what Liam was unable to tell him. Their mother had been sick for some time, unable to get out of bed, coughing constantly. Despite Liam's optimistic words that she would get better, Killian could see that she was merely getting worse. He had never known someone who died before, not really. The neighbor, Edward, who was only a little older than Killian, had lost his mother in childbirth. When Killian had asked him one day why he had no mother, his ears had been boxed and his father had sat him down to explain. So he was not unfamiliar with the concept of death, and he had known, somewhere deep down in his little heart, that that was where his mother was headed.

He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled through to the other room of their little cottage, feeling as though he were in a daze, and Liam followed close behind.

"My boys," their mother breathed when they were close enough to each grasp one of her hands, so quiet they could barely hear her. Killian crawled up onto the bed with her, careful to lie next to her and not put any weight on her.

"Mama, please don't go," he whispered, tears already pricking his blue eyes, and they looked like the sea.

"I have to, baby," she answered him, her own tears tracing a path down her cheeks. "It's time."

"But I love you too much," Killian hiccoughed, the entirety of his little body wracked with the force of his sobs.

"I love you too, Killian, so very much," his mother replied, her eyelids starting to droop.

"Mama?" he cried out, and she pulled her hand from his to run in through his dark locks one more time, before her eyes closed and her hand fell to the bed, and her chest stopped heaving. "Mama! Mama come back! Mama please!"

Liam put his hand on Killian's shoulder and pulled him away, but Killian fought to stay with their mother, until the only way Liam could get them separated was wedge his way in between them, so Killian clung to him instead of her. He lifted his brother, with some effort, and carried him past where their father sat in the corner, a bottle of whiskey clenched tightly in his hand. Liam set his brother down on the bed they shared, but the younger boy wouldn't let go, his tears soaking Liam's shirt. He sat down next to Killian, his arm around his shoulders, holding him close as Killian kept crying, his own tears streaming silently down his face. He had to be strong for Killian, had to be the rock his brother could hold on to. Liam cradled his brother until Killian had cried himself to sleep, then lay him down and tucked him under the blanket, crawling in beside him. Even in his sleep, Killian reached for Liam, snuggling close as he sniffled his way into dreaming.

* * *

Killian woke with a start, the violent motion of the ship beneath him corresponding to the horrific scenes of his nightmare, and he felt a cold sweat tickling the back of his neck. He sniffled back tears and looked around for his father, seeking out the comfort of his words, but the man was nowhere to be seen, his bunk disturbingly empty. Killian tiptoed across the room to his father's bed, careful to make as little noise as possible on the creaky wood floor. The sheets were ruffled and messy, as though he had left in a hurry, but the small stack of clothes he kept was gone as well.

"Liam! Liam, wake up!" Killian cried out, shaking his older brother as the ship pitched beneath his feet and he struggled to gain his balance. "Father's gone!"

Liam merely groaned and shifted away from his brother, shaking his shoulder loose of the smaller boy's hand. Killian ran toward the door, wrenching it open, intending to go search every corner of the ship until he found his father, but he was met instead with the large body of the ship's captain.

"Are you looking for your father?" the captain sneered, his dark eyes glinting with glee at the tortured look in Killian's eyes. "Look out there. He rowed away an hour ago."

"Rowed away? Why?" Killian asked, confused. He heard Liam stir behind him, his sleep obviously disturbed by the noise in their cabin.

"Your father aint what you think," the captain informed Killian, a little too happily. "He's a thief, a fugitive from the law. He heard there were soldiers waiting at the next port, so he bought my old rowboat… and left."

"Why would he leave us?" Killian countered, his young mind unable to make sense of such a story.

He felt Liam's hand on his shoulder as the older boy stoically accepted their fate. Killian might be surprised by this betrayal, but Liam could hardly say the same. He knew, far better than his brother, about their father's more nefarious activities, and the struggle he had caring for his sons since their mother died. It was perhaps the one good thing that could be said for Brennan Jones, that he had loved their mother deeply. Losing her had wrecked him in a way that nothing else good, and his children had only served as a reminder of that pain every day since her death. Killian was too young to understand this, but Liam knew.

"How do you think he paid for the boat?" the captain explained with a vicious smile. "He traded you and your brother into my service."

"No!" Killian screamed, lashing out at the captain, restrained only by Liam's hold on the shoulder of his pajamas. "No, he wouldn't do that!"

"Now you know what kind of man your father really is," the captain jeered, backing out of the cabin and closing the door behind him.

The moment the door was shut, Liam let go of his younger brother, and Killian sprinted toward it, trying to yank the door open, but the captain had locked it firmly. Killian hammered his little fists on the wood, to no avail, his blue eyes watering against his will. Liam put his hand on his brother's shoulder once more, and Killian instantly relaxed, slumping into the older boy's arms. They slid to the floor together, Killian leaning heavily on Liam, and Liam's arms wrapped protectively around Killian's body.

"It's not fair," Killian moaned into Liam's shirt, and the older boy rubbed soothingly at his back.

"We'll be better off without him," he assured his brother, trying to convince himself as well.

"How can you say that?" Killian gasped, looking at his brother in horror. "We'll be slaves!"

"Perhaps the captain will be kind to us, if we behave," Liam reasoned, not looking at his brother. He had a hard time believing it himself, but it was his job, now more than ever, to be the beacon of hope for Killian. They had lost their family, their freedom, but Liam was damn well going to make sure that Killian didn't lose hope as well. "Come, lets go back to sleep. Dawn will be here before you know it."

"Can I – can I sleep with you tonight?" Killian asked tentatively, and Liam nodded, pushing himself to his feet and taking Killian's hand to pull him up too.

"Of course, Killy."

They clambered into Liam's bunk, Killian closer to the wall of the cabin, and Killian immediately snuggled his way into Liam's side, clinging to his shirt as though his entire life depended on it. Liam smiled a little to himself. Regardless of their other circumstances, at least this hadn't changed. He was still Killian's rock, a position he would gladly occupy until the day he died.

"I'll always be here, little brother," he whispered to Killian as the younger boy started to doze off, and Killian responded by snuggling closer.

* * *

Killian stared at the water as it ran down the windows washing back into the sea they had just landed in. It was miraculously blue, the warmth of the sun inviting, as though welcoming them home.

"What do you say, Liam?" Killian asked his brother, feeling unstoppable. "You want some company when you report to the admiralty?"

There was no response, and Killian turned to find Liam stopped over, his hand clutching at his heart, struggling to breathe.

"Liam?" Killian said, concern dripping through his voice. He watched as his brother slid to the floor, gasping, and then dove towards him, pulling Liam onto his lap. "No! No! Liam! Liam, Liam! No, no, no, no, no, no." The words were like a mantra, repeated to himself and to Liam, and to whatever gods might exist, a prayer for mercy. "No, help! Help!" he called out, as loud as possible, but no one heard, no one came running to the captain's quarters.

And then Liam's struggles for air stopped, his movements stilled, and the pulse beating through his veins quieted. Killian knew immediately why, and there were no more supplications to the gods for help, no more pleas for this not to be happening. There was simply a grief he had never felt before, sudden and overwhelming, as he lost the last thing he had in all the realms. His fingers ran over Liam's skin, before Killian stopped, holding his hands out as though they were covered with his brother's blood. He felt they might as well have been.

"Liam," he sobbed, gasping for air as he tried to still the shaking of his body.

He was reeling, his soul feeling as though it were a ship being pitched back and forth on the most violent of seas, a storm ripping at his masts and rigging. He clung to Liam's body, his fist wrapping itself in his brother's coat, but the action did not provide the comfort it had done once. Without Liam's words of hope and warm embrace, there was no soothing to be felt. Liam, who had promised to always be with him, gone. Who would be his anchor now?

* * *

Killian and Emma sat in the doctor's office, confirming what they already knew, what they had known for days already, that they had lost the baby. They still had Henry, and Izzie, but he had still wanted this other one. And he had loved it already. Only a few weeks since they had found out and he had loved it beyond comprehension. And Emma was fine, upset, but far stronger than he was. He had lost far too much of his family, and yet it hurt just as much each time. He had yet to get accustomed to the sensation of having his heart torn apart.

"Killian, are you alright?" Emma asked him at last, as they entered their house after a very quiet car ride home.

He nodded, unable to speak as he collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands as he tried to hold the tears inside. He didn't want Emma to see how much this had upset him, didn't want her to think it was her fault, because it wasn't. If anything it was his, he was far too old. _Their daughter had probably been a fluke, but he was too old, had died for heavens sake, and he probably couldn't…_ he silenced the thought, pushing it to the back of his mind to deal with later.

"It's alright if you're upset," Emma whispered, and he just noticed that she had sat down next to him on the couch, her hand placed tentatively on his back, and he tore his hands away from his face, looking up at her, and letting her see the pain that was in his eyes. He was surprised to see it mirrored back in hers. "I'm sad too."

Killian slid his arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him, and they both tipped to the side, pulling their legs onto the couch so they were lying down, snuggled close. Emma carded her fingers through his hair, and his fingers toyed with the edge of her shirt. After a few minutes, he felt her tears soaking through his shirt, and something within him broke like a dam, his own pain flooding forward, and he didn't try to stop the tears from coming. They stayed like that for some time, it could have been minutes, or hours, before Emma shifted to look up at him, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"We're going to get through this," she said simply, and he nodded, surprised by her optimism. Perhaps all the time with her parents was beginning to rub off on her.

"Aye, love," he answered, pressing his lips to her forehead.

Neither of them moved from their spot on the couch, content to cling to each other and seek comfort from each other. Not only was she his rock, but he was hers. They steadied each other, kept each other from losing all hope and turning to the darkness that they both felt tug at them on occasion. Emma was the one he could hold onto every time he felt sadness well up inside of him like a tide threatening to drown him, and inevitably she saved him, pulled him from the depths of his own mind. She became his new rock, his new anchor. And she promised to always be there, and she was.


	25. The Fifth First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lily dies, Maleficent blames Emma and unleashes a horrible curse. Everyone in Storybrooke forgets their relationship to her, and the more they loved her before, the more they hate her now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for CS Hiatus Challenge on Tumblr - Day 66 Prompt

Emma woke in her bed as usual, and turned over, sliding her hand over Killian’s chest and humming lightly, all thoughts of the vile orange cloud of smoke that haunted her dreams erased by the feel of his skin under her fingertips. Feeling a little cheeky, she slid her hand down Killian’s torso, intending to wake him up with a pleasant surprise. As her fingertips toyed with the waistband of his pants, he moved in a sudden motion, his hand grabbing her wrist tightly, his head turned to face her, eyes boring into hers.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Killian growled, and if it weren’t for his voice, Emma would think that he might just be playing with her.

“I was just –“ she started, shrinking away from him slightly as his grip on her wrist tightened.

“I know what you were just doing, you evil witch,” he snarled, his eyes like daggers of ice.

“Killian…”

“How dare you call me by that name!” He flung her arm away with such force that she toppled out of the bed, wincing at the pain the laced through her wrist as she landed. “Get out of my house, vile woman, and do not return!”

“What happened to you?” Emma asked, using the mattress to pull herself up.

“Nothing has happened to me, woman, I am exactly the way I have always been,” Killian answered, the hatred in his voice tempered with confusion.

“But yesterday,” she stammered, trying not to look at him directly, “yesterday you loved me.”

“As though I could ever love someone such as yourself,” he sneered, and his voice had never sounded so cold.

Emma turned on her heels and fled the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time in her haste to leave the house. As she opened the door, she reached up to grab her jacket from its customary place on the hook, but it was not there. With a curious look at the little row of hooks, none of which held her jacket, Emma fled the house, desperately trying to hold back the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes.

She made her way to the docks, sitting down at the edge and dangling her feet over, kicking them back and forth over the blue-green water. As her thoughts grew darker, the water beneath her toes began to churn, and the sky grew cloudier, a storm brewing high in the heavens. Emma didn’t even realize what she was doing until raindrops began to fall thick on the docks, soaking her through in a matter of seconds. She hopped to her feet and took off, running to her parents’ loft a few blocks away, and pushing open the door without a knock or a second thought.

“Mom? Dad?” she called out as she opened the door, and five startled faces turned to look at her.

“What are you doing in my house?” David asked harshly, moving to stand protectively between Emma and Mary Margaret, who had pulled Neal into her arms. Only twice before had Emma seen her mother look at her with such fear in her eyes, and it made her shiver to think of it.

“Dad, what are you -?”

“Why are you calling me that?” David interrupted, his hand moving to one of the guns holstered at his side. “I am most definitely not your father.”

“Be careful, David, the evil wench must be trying to trick you,” Killian said, stepping forward and raising his hook.

Emma ignored his words and looked at her son, hoping that he might be able to help her understand what was going on.

“Henry, please –“ she started, and he jumped a little as she addressed him.

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO MY SON!” Killian roared, stepping forward with his hook raised, held back only by David’s hand on his shoulder.

“What do you want from us?” Mary Margaret asked, her voice cold, the same tone Emma had heard her use with countless villains.

“Who do you think I am?” Emma pleaded, trying to appeal to her mother’s compassion and ignoring the others. “What did I do to you?”

“You’re the Lady Morganna,” Mary Margaret answered plainly.

“You killed our daughter,” David continued, clenching his teeth.

“And Lily,” Mary Margaret added.

“I didn’t…” Emma stammered, astounded by their accusations.

“You think we don’t know who killed our own daughter?” David replied angrily, his voice rising dangerously.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, backing away from the hateful stares that bored into her. “I’m sorry.”

Emma ran from the loft, her mind spinning with all the information. How could her _parents_ and her _husband_ not know her anymore? How could they hate her so much? How could they honestly believe she had killed anyone? She felt hurt and betrayed, but even so, she knew in the back of her mind that it was not their fault. The whole thing reeked of a curse, but to figure out how to fix it, she had to determine how much damage it had done. Emma redirected her footsteps, heading back to the house Killian had picked out for them, safe in the knowledge that he and Henry were at the loft.

She pushed open the door and stood in the hallway, unsure of where to start. The pictures they had hung on the wall caught her attention, and slowly Emma made her way toward them. When she saw them, Emma’s breath caught in her throat, and tears burned in her eyes. She had been removed from every single photo, as though she had never existed. Most of the pictures were of Killian and Henry, but in a few, in the ones that had just been of her and Killian, she had been replaced by images of Milah. She focused on the large photo they had framed of their wedding day, but instead of seeing her blonde curls tumbling over the white silk dress, she saw Milah’s dark ones. It was Milah’s hands that clutched the bouquet of flowers, Milah’s eyes that smiled up at Killian, Milah’s face that Killian’s fingers caressed.

“What are you doing here?”

Emma jumped, she had not heard the door open. Killian stood there in the open doorway, rainwater dripping from his hair, blue eyes as cold as ice. Emma hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the onslaught of his hate.

“I was just trying to find some answers,” she said, her eyes flickering up to meet his.

“In my family photographs?” he pressed, stepping forward, the clack of his boots on the wood floor sounding threatening.

“Sometimes answers can be found in unlikely places,” she replied.

“Apparently,” he hissed, taking another step forward.

“Killian, please listen to me,” Emma pleaded, trying to convey her honesty through her eyes. “Something is wrong, there’s been a curse…”

“Why would I ever believe you?” he spat, now standing menacingly close.

“Because I know that deep down, there is a part of you that knows that something doesn’t make sense,” Emma said, trying to recall all the things that had been said in their previous meetings to help change each others mind. “There is some part of you, Killian, that trusts me, that believes what I’m saying right now.”

“It is just some magic spell you have put on me,” Killian retorted, but his voice lacked the conviction it had held moments earlier.

“Killian, I would never use my magic to hurt you,” Emma said, and he gave a small jerk of the head that Emma thought may have been a nod.

“Tell me what it is you believe has happened,” he conceded, “though I cannot promise to believe what you say.”

“Last night, Maleficent unleashed a curse on the town,” Emma explained her theory. “The curse erased me – my real identity – from all of your memories, and replaced them with memories of someone you hated. My guess is that the stronger your feelings of love for me were, the stronger the feelings of hate became.”

“I have told you before, Morganna, there is no possible way that I could ever have loved you,” Killian denied, but his voice was softer, and she could hear that her words had had some effect on him.

“My name is not Morganna,” she answered, stepping a little closer to him, “it’s Emma.”

When he heard her name, it was as though something inside of him broke, some instinct that told him to hate her was lifted. He need only think the name _Emma_ to be flooded with memories of trust and warmth, and knew this woman before him must have something to do with that feeling, whether he remembered it or not. Before he really knew what he was doing, he had closed the space between them, his lips crashing into hers. He had a brief moment to process how soft her lips were before he felt magic rush forth from him, and a bright light illuminated his closed eyelids.

“ _Emma_ ,” he murmured into her lips as the memories came flooding back to him. “Emma, I _love_ you.”

“I love you too,” she answered, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself restored to all the pictures on the wall, her red leather jacket hanging from its place on the hook by the door.


	26. I'm With Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a little bitty bit about CS and the election, mostly because I saw this pic (its a pic posted by Jennifer Morrison after she voted) and it started the whole train of thought. Anyway, enjoy and uh, if you couldn’t tell from the title, Clinton-supporters will probably like this a whole lot more than Trump-supporters. Sorry not sorry. #imwithher

“Swan, where are you going?” Killian mumbled, as he rolled over in bed, good hand running over the empty space Emma’s body usually occupied. He opened one eye just enough to see the clock on her nightstand read 3:32am in disturbingly bright red lights.

“Go back to sleep, Killian, I’ll be back tonight,” she answered in hushed tones, gently smoothing down his sleep rustled hair.

“Tonight?” he said, his confusion rendering him more awake, and he pushed himself up to a more seated position, leaning heavily against the headboard.

“I have to go to New York today,” Emma said quietly.

“Why, has something happened? Did your parents use the – the telephone?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“No, nothing like that,” Emma replied, her voice placating and calm. “I just have to go vote. And I never filed a change of address after we moved from New York since Storybrooke doesn’t technically exist, so I have to drive down there today.”

“Vote?” Killian asked, confused by yet another modern tradition.

“In the US, we elect our president – our leader. Two candidates run and then we all get to choose one, and the person who gets the most votes wins,” Emma explained patiently.

“Sounds like a very noble endeavor.”

“It has its flaws, but on the whole it is, yeah,” she smiled.

“Well then I should come with you, and cast my vote too,” Killian said, sitting up further and pushing the duvet back.

“Slow down, pirate,” Emma chuckled, laying a hand gently on his bare chest. “Only US citizens can vote.”

“Swan, can I ask you something?” Killian said after a moment, while Emma stood and shrugged on an oversized sweater that may or may not have been bought with the intention of Killian wearing it.

“Sure.”

“Why do you care? I just mean that we live in Storybrooke, which doesn’t really fall under the governance of the country, since as you said, it doesn’t technically exist. So why does it matter to you who becomes the leader?” His brows were furrowed, and Emma couldn’t help but smile a little as she thought about how best to answer his question.

“If this election were like any other, I might agree with you, but this one is different,” she answered. “One of the candidates is a pretty bad guy, and a lot of people could be in danger if he gets elected. I just can’t stand by and not let that happen.”

“A savior through and through,” Killian quipped, but Emma could hear a touch of bitterness in his voice, because she knew he didn’t entirely understand.

“I’ll pull up some information about the candidates on the laptop for you, and then I think you’ll understand,” Emma said, leaning forward across the bed to kiss him. “I have to go now though, otherwise I’ll never get home at a reasonable time.”

* * * * * Three hours later * * * * *

The phone rang, and Emma reached down to where she kept it in a cupholder of her little yellow bug, and she smiled as she saw Killian’s name and picture flash across the screen.

“Hey you,” she said, smiling to herself.

“Swan,” Killian replied, his voice containing a note of panic, and Emma’s heart immediately tensed. “This man is a complete lunatic! Do you have any idea the things he says he’ll do, Swan? Gods, the things he would do to this town if he ever found out about it… it’d be horrific. How can people possibly support him? Why don’t they like the woman, I don’t understand? Please tell me you’re voting for her, love.”

“Don’t worry, Killian, I am,” Emma chuckled, amused at his reaction.

“Did you see the video, Swan? What he said about women, it’s completely disgusting…” Emma could clearly see him recoiling from the computer as he watched the words that had enraged her so much. “Even in my worst days I never said anything like that… never thought anything like that…”

“That’s because you’re a much better man than he is, Killian,” she answered.

“I hate this man so much, Swan,” Killian whispered.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “That’s why I have to vote.”

“Go elect her president,” he said, and this time she heard the pride in his voice. “Love you, Swan.”

“I love you too, Killian,” Emma grinned, and she hung up the phone, smiling at the “I’m with Her” pin she had stuck to the front of her sweater.


	27. I'm With Her - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I hadnt anticipated writing a second part to this, but a little nonnie bird chirped that they’d like to see a post-election reaction from CS, so here it is. It may not have been what they were looking for, but given my feelings and mental state in the wake of the election, this is what I’ve got.

Emma turned the tv off and stood up without a word, leaving Killian gawking after her from the couch as she walked silently towards the stairs.

"Swan?" he called out, careful to keep his voice low so he didn't wake Henry, who had gone to bed nearly three hours earlier. "Don't you want to see how it ends?"

Emma stopped, her right foot resting on the bottom step and her fingers tightening around the banister.

"No," she whispered, barely audible, without turning around.

Another second passed before she moved again, climbing the stairs at a pace that spoke of bone weariness and the weight of the world pressing down upon the shoulder blades. Killian watched her go and waited long enough to be sure that Emma had made it to their bedroom before he reached over to the coffee table and picked up the remote, powering on the tv. He simply couldn't accept it, not yet. There were still more states whose votes needed to be counted, things could still change, they could still stop this madness.

Yet another state blinked red, and another, and another after that, until the little red bar next to the madman's name had moved past the blank line indicating the halfway point. The broadcasters on tv officially declared him the winner, and cut to a shot of him looking for a the world like a man whose bluff had just been called in the most public way possible. Killian turned the tv off and leaned back against the cushions, his heart slowly filling with lead. _How could so many people have done this? How could an entire country be okay with a man who felt that anyone who was not exactly like him was inferior?_ Killian had occasionally thought about the prospect of having a child with Emma, but for the first time ever, he was not made happy by the vision of a little girl with jet black hair and bright green eyes. Tonight, he imagined himself, sitting with his daughter on his lap, having to explain to her that half of the world saw her as less than human, simply because of her gender.

Worry creased his brow as he considered what might happen to Storybrooke under this new regime. Magic, in the hands of this demon. Werewolves and mermaids executed or studied for being different. _Would it be better for them to return to the Enchanted Forest?_ His instinct was to flee – everything about the man screamed "danger", and yet Killian had never been one to run. His fight-or-flight instinct drove him to fight, every single time, had led to countless punches being landed on someone's face and more than one dagger sunk into someone's flesh. But this was not a fight that he could win by punching or stabbing, this was a fight that required so much more, and he was not sure he was up to the challenge. He felt the weariness that had made Emma's frame sag start to weigh on his own shoulders.

Slowly, Killian stood from the couch and walked toward the stairs, climbing his way to the top. He pushed the door to the bedroom that he and Emma shared open and stepped inside, closing it silently behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Emma lying flat on her back, hands folded across her chest, and instantly knew she was awake, not least because she was strictly a curled-up-in-a-ball-on-her-side sleeper.

"What do we do now?" he whispered, as he slipped under the covers next to her and settled on his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"We could leave," Emma answered, turning her head a fraction of an inch toward Killian. "We could gather up the whole town and take the Jolly back through a portal to the Enchanted Forest. We could take back my parents' kingdom and rebuild the damage from the curse and we could be safe and happy. Or we could put up a protection spell around the town, we could build a wall of magic to keep them out and make sure that we're safe."

Killian knew as she was saying these things that they could not do either of them, and from the tone in her voice, it was clear that she knew it too.

"It wouldn't be right," he replied, turning to look at her, and he saw tears making her eyes shine in the moonlight. He had an odd thought in that moment, that something that was a mark of sadness could be so beautiful. It almost made him feel hopeful.

"No, it wouldn't," she agreed. "There are people out there who are going to need protecting, people who are going to be in danger because of what he wants to do, because of the things he's said. And they can't leave, they can't just pick up and go to the Enchanted Forest like we can. There are women and minorities and non-heterosexual people and disabled individuals who are going to need people to fight with them and to fight for them against all the hatred and the fear that's out there. He can't win, he just can't. I mean, I know he won the election, but he can't win control over our hearts. He can't win power over our minds."

"So we stay and fight," Killian stated.

"We stay and fight."


	28. Bathe My Soul in Colours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt CS + Devoid of Color for the 2017 CS Hiatus Challenge

If judging by appearances, anyone would have said that Captain Killian Jones was in his mid-to-late twenties – he still had a youthful glow about his smooth skin, and worry had not yet caused lines to form on his face, though it was true that in his life he’d had more than his fair share of stress and anxiety. In reality, Killian Jones was closer to seventy, and owed his youthful appearance to the magic of Neverland, which had kept him from aging during his decades of piracy after – well, he tried not to think about that. In all those seventy years, Killian had never seen anything but shades of grey, it was simply the way thinks worked in these realms. Those lucky enough to meet soulmates, their True Loves, said that color followed these individuals into their lives, but Killian was never sure he believed such stories. He knew that his hair was dark and his eyes were fair, but he had no idea that the former was the color of dark chocolate or a raven’s feather with the sun shining through, had not the slightest inkling that his eyes were the precise shade of blue of the clearest seas on the sunniest of days.

The first color he saw was red – faded and dim, but there nonetheless, and it seemed like the most vibrant thing in the world to him. The red came from a woman’s bodice, partials covered by a cascade of dark curls, but it caught his attention, and he looked at her with wonder. They spoke for much of the night, and he could tell that she longed for him to whisk her away on his ship, and he was sorely tempted. But she spoke of a young child, barely more than a babe, and he was loathe part a boy from his mother, no matter how much color she brought into his world. He stopped by the port as often as he could, always looking forward to seeing her in the tavern, watching her eyes light up as he told her tales of his travels. As the years passed, it grew more difficult to resist her pleas to take him with her, until finally one visit, she came to him not at the tavern, but at his ship, desperation in her eyes, and he knew her request was more than a fantasy shared over mead. He relented, and she sailed away with him the very next morning. From then on, Killian’s travels were filled with color, and he noticed all of it – the color of the leaves in the trees, the way the birds’ feathers caught the light as they flew, the way the sea changed from bright blue to darkest sapphire when a storm rolled in.

When Milah died, when she was killed, the colors began to fade back to grey, though Killian could not honestly say that he missed them. Milah, he missed very much, but he had no use for the colors if they were not pigmenting her skin, her eyes, her hair. Occasionally, he thought he saw flashes of the dullest colors, but he could not be sure that they were really there, and not just a figment of his imagination. He idly wondered if this happened to everyone who lost their soulmate, if they all lost the color too, or if it was simply his own heartbreak. Perhaps the memory of color would fade in time, just as he would surely forget the details of Milah’s face and body – the little constellation of dark freckles on the left side of her stomach, or the way all her curls wound counterclockwise. He wondered what memories he would start to lose first, and what the last thing he would remember about her would be. It turned out that red was the last color to go, a vestige of Milah straining to hold on, and he would glimpse the faintest shades of it, most often in the sunrises. On days when he was feeling less miserable, he liked to imagine that the shades of pink in the sunrise were painted for him by Milah, a smile on the horizon just for him. And then one morning, even the sunrise was grey, and Killian felt certain he would never see the splendor of another one. That was a difficult day, for it felt like he had lost his last remnant of Milah, and he remembered standing at the bow of the Jolly Roger late that night after most of the crew had retired to the cabins below, and he thought about jumping off and letting whatever sea monsters lay beneath drag him to a watery grave.

In the centuries that Killian searched for vengeance, he nearly forgot about color altogether, lost in a world of grey that rather suited his mindset. Until he sound himself staring into a pair of shockingly green eyes that shone like a multifaceted emerald in the light. If Killian thought he knew color before, it was nothing compared to her eyes, nothing compared to the brightness she brought into his world. With hair he could have sworn was made from golden silk strands woven out of sunlight, and skin that was like the moon made into cream, Emma’s presence gave Killian colors that he never could have known existed. He knew she saw them too, from the way she immediately tensed in his presence and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Killian wondered if she knew what the colors meant, or if she was simply in denial. He had to admit, beautiful though she may be, she was a bit prickly, and he could hardly imagine that this bold, stubborn, distrusting woman could possibly be his soulmate. No, it had to be some kind of malfunction, he had already found his soulmate, and she had been taken from him, no woman could ever replace her. He eyed Miss Swan with equal skepticism, and tried to charm her so that she might be more pliable, easier to take advantage of so he could get to the land where his revenge awaited. And yet something about Emma, her fire and passion and determination to return to her son, it sparked something inside Killian, and try as he might to tamp it down, he couldn’t help but feel that there was something special about her.

As the weeks and months passed, Killian found himself falling, rather reluctantly, in love with Emma. He didn’t want it – she was difficult and closed off, and quite the distraction from his revenge, but he began to wonder if there might be more to his future but revenge, or dying in the process of trying to achieve it. The more he gave in to his feelings for Emma, the brighter and more vibrant the colors became, and Killian found that some days he would venture down to the shoreline just to see what shade of blue the water was that day, lost in the new colors each sunset brought him.

Sunsets were all Emma, he learned, after they’d moved in together – she was never up to see the sun rise, not unless Killian nearly dragged her out of bed. And he rarely did that, he found it was not worth the grumpy groans and harassment he received in return. But sunsets were practically electrifying in her presence. The way the light caught the shine of her hair and turned it to pure gold and the colors danced across her skin, reflected in her eyes. She was beauty, a goddess standing beside him. He could never bear it if anything should take those moments, the colors of the sunset, Emma, away from him.

He thought, when he died, the colors would cease to exist, along with everything else. He had never been much of a believer in the afterlife, but he found himself in the underworld, so it seemed he had been mistaken on that front. The curious thing was that not everyone seemed to have colors in the underworld. From what he could gather, Hades had only some, and those few were dull and lifeless. Meg, the girl he rescued, had none at all, and he wondered if she had ever seen them or if she’d lost them. When he got Emma’s message, something inside of him sparked hope. Ordinarily, Killian would not have had much hope that Emma would be able to achieve such a feat as bringing him back from the dead, but perhaps… did his colors, still as vibrant as ever, mean that there was still hope for him and Emma? He wanted to believe it, so very badly.

When Zeus restored him to life, Killian thought, for the briefest of moments, that he had lost the colors, because Emma stood all in black, and it occurred to him that maybe he was not alive after all, maybe he was simply a ghost, cursed to haunt Emma for eternity. But then he noticed the golden hue of her ponytail, and green of the grass, and he knew he was back for good, and he vowed to himself to make the most of every second with Emma, to marry her and be a family with her and Henry, and appreciate her more than he ever had before. It would not be a difficult task, he thought to himself, before he called out to her, and she ran to him, her eyes rimmed with pink from tears that had been shed.

They married at sunset, naturally, with the colors of the sky matched by the colors of Emma’s bouquet and the pigment on her lips and brushed ever so lightly across her cheeks. It was only fitting that they be surrounded by bursts of every color, since that was what they’d brought each other in life, vibrant color. When their daughter was born, she was awash with color too, her skin all pink in its newness, a shock of dark hair like his, and green eyes like her mother. They named her Clara, for she was a new light in their lives, and they cherished her. He hadn’t thought it possible, but Killian swore the colors grew even brighter the moment he first held her in his arms.

Killian never lost the color again, he lived the rest of his life in splendor, surrounded by Emma and their children (for Henry was as much his as Clara), and the light that they brought him. He remembered fondly when Henry and Clara first saw color themselves, and it filled him with joy to know that they had found the same kind of happiness that he had known. Killian thought on occasion of how lucky he was to have so many people that brought vibrance to his life, but he never considered that he might have done the same for others. He had not once thought that the first color he gave Emma was the soft pink of his lips, never realized that Henry noticed that the blue of his eyes grew brighter the day he married Emma, never once imagined that the colors would fade for everyone he left behind. But they did, for Emma most of all, and she knew that the precise shade of blue of his eyes and the exact pink of his lips would be gone from her world forever. The last color Killian saw was the bright emerald of her eyes, just as it was the first color she had given him, and it brought him happiness in the end.


End file.
